


Responsibility Is Just Another Word For Guilt

by Anon1Adult



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Demon!Dean, Dub-Con - Adam/Sam, Dub-Con - Dean/Adam, Dubious Consent, M/M, Sex used as a manipulation tool, Violence for the sake of violence, Wincest first time, season 10 divergent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-02
Updated: 2019-03-02
Packaged: 2019-11-07 23:31:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 29,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17970143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anon1Adult/pseuds/Anon1Adult
Summary: There were plans for the resulting Winchester-Campbell union.Two vessels born that were to cleanse and usher in peace; they would bring the world to its knees as God's Will was carried out.There weren't even footnotes for the son of the Winchester-Milligan union.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Fic written for the Dean Winchester Big Bang 2019.  
> What better way to celebrate Dean Winchester than with a Wincest fic? ^_^
> 
> My amazing artist for this challenge is [Nisaki-chan](https://nisaki-chan.tumblr.com/)  
> The art post can be found here:[Tumblr -Art for DWBB 2019](https://nisaki-chan.tumblr.com/post/183172083029/art-for-dwbb-2019) as well as embedded in the fic. (Because art that makes my heart **that happy** needs to be seen!!)

# 

Despite how many sermons were given about “avoiding Hell’s Lake of Fire”, it really wasn’t that big of a lake.

Dean figured Oregon’s Crater Lake was probably the closest in actual size.  
He could swim across it if he had to. Well, theoretically. Realistically his flesh would cook off his bones before he got close to the other side, but it was the principle of the thing. It wasn’t very big.

The lake was a sort of tourist destination for Hell. The people who sold their souls never saw it because those who knew about Hell got to skip over this particular joy and go straight to the rack. Dean himself hadn’t spent any time here on his first tour. Alistair was all too happy to take ownership of him and every emotion that could be wrenched from him with the twist of a blade.

Dean repressed the growl working its way into his throat. Time had shifted the fear and defiance of being under Alistair's hand, into anger. Anger Dean then channeled into the pain he inflicted on the evil he found in hell.

Torturing the demons served to pass the time while Crowley was off doing whatever the king of hell did.  
The bar scene got boring sometimes so Dean would take it upon himself to be a Knight and roam the grounds while the King ruled over his sorry excuse for a court.  
Dean suspected the aborted demon cure had done something to the posh bastard; the demon who had walked Dean into an office with nothing but his charm and a lie about the horseman rings was nowhere to be found these days.

But power ruled down here and even something of a King couldn’t break free from the way the demons bound themselves to one another. Each of them assuming a role never asked of them but all conforming to be another cog that kept the Machine Of Hell turning.

Dean is the only exception of course.  
He hadn’t been forged by “conventional” means which meant his only bond was to the blade tucked in the small of his back.  
So here he was. Wandering Hell. Near enough “The Lake of Fire” to feel the heat through his jacket.  
_Lake of Fire_. In his mind, he heard the echo of a preacher on the verge of a heart attack every time he thought it.

He’d explored a few caves. The smooth rock paths were reminiscent of water spillways leading to the lake, but they were long since barren. Curiosity -and boredom from tying half a dozen of the “deserving of Hell types” together and sinking them to the bottom of the lake- drew him into the depths of a cave.  
The rock walls were different here. Etched with overlapping marks the deeper the cave went. He wondered how long it had been since they were carved.  
The traitorous thought _Sam would know_ surfaced, and Dean shoved it away.

After avoiding several Raiders of the Lost Arch pitfalls, Harrison Ford eat your heart out, Dean came into a ledge vantage point several stories above an intricate metal structure. 

Knowing not everything in Hell had been spawned from Lucifer’s first torture, Dean slowly scaled the wall, wanting to get closer.

One of his previous Hell-ventures had led him to Cerberus. The three-headed mutt had almost taken a chunk out of him the first time. Only backing down after Dean threatened to cut off each head, dump the body in the river of Styx, and mount the thing’s creepy tail as a trophy.  
Since then they’ve given each other wide berth when they had to be within spitting distance.

Once Dean was level with the top of the metal cage he paused for recon. It wouldn’t do him to keep going if there were already a pile of skulls around it. He was warped, not brain dead.

His marred soul revolted when he recognized what was in the cage.  
Apparently carrying the mark of Lucifer had subconsciously drawn him to the angel.

The angel who was currently locked in a vicious battle with another angel.  
This was the cage. Lucifer’s cage.  
It was a physical place in Hell.

The ease in which he’d got here suddenly made him incredibly irritated. He had wandered around with a Sam-husk for a year and a half when he could have just come here and pulled his brother out, whole, by his stupid long hair instead. 

Watching the two angels fight, Dean dismissed the notion it would have been easy. He watched as they tore at each other, their massive forms coming together with a teeth-rattling boom. 

He doubted an angels' true form looked so human shaped, even with the wings.  
If the angels had fallen into the cage encased in human bodies, it would stand to reason they would have started fighting that way and found it easier to continue in the human-shaped forms even after Sam was pulled from the cage.  
And with determination like that, it meant they would probably never truly break the cycle and stop. Which was for the best because in this form angels looked like the stuff of nightmares. Their long wendigo reminiscent appendages, the bright glow of their very form, and their grotesque looking wings.  
Three sets, one arching high over their heads, another starting in the middle of their back and following the same high arch, and the final set rested against their head creating a shroud that hid what would have been facial features.  
What was unsettling was every inch of the wings were covered in eyes.

Dean reasoned the eyes on the wings weren't for seeing in the traditional sense or he would have been spotted long ago. 

The two beings moved like a choreographed dance. So evenly matched neither of them able to get the upper hand over the other. 

It was then Dean recognized Sam’s wrestling style.  
He supposed Lucifer kept a copy of Sam’s memories while he was inside his perfect vessel.  
And if the same was true for Michael, it meant Adam must have learned enough to hold his own against Sam. 

Boredom kept Dean watching after he’d lost interest. Apparently, Michael and Lucifer had picked up a limited number of moves which made it look, not only choreographed but repetitive.

They were locked in a fight neither of them would be able to win. 

As Dean was ready to call it a day and leave, things got interesting.

The angels stood apart from each other long enough for the broken wings and limbs to heal before one of them went to the corner of the cage and picked something up.

Something small and human shaped.  
Something small and Adam-human shaped.

The fact Adam had his own body in the cage blew the theory Adam was encased under the glow of Michael. 

From this distance, Dean could only tell he didn’t have the right… aura of a damned man, but he had that same rust-gathered look all demons wore around the edges of a meat suit.  
It took Dean a moment to realize it was because Adam’s soul was still encased in his own body. He was still whole.

Keeping one’s own body wasn’t done in any of the realms. As far as Dean knew there was only one candidate that went to Heaven that way- Chariot of Fire style- and Dean was the only one in Hell because he kept sneaking through the backdoor. 

Yet here was Adam.

With one hand, Michael held Adam eyelevel and forced him to face Lucifer. Adam was struggling and yelling curses that would make any one of Dad’s marine friend’s proud. Neither angel cared for his screams as Michael held his chin and they forced Adam to look upon Lucifer’s uncovered face.

Adam’s protesting screams were replaced with a final howl of pain and Michael let the youngest of the Winchester line collapse to the ground in a crumpled heap.

That was enough life leached from the bloodline for the day, Dean mused as he gathered himself to start back towards the cave opening.

The angels had already forgotten about the broken human at their feet as they gravitated towards each other. Their huge wings spread out, comparing them, Lucifer’s wing span was a few primary feathers longer than Michael’s. Then they were intertwining their wings and using their far too long limbs to embrace.  
They were junk-less but apparently that didn’t seem to be a problem for either of them.

Lucifer pulled one of Sam’s favorite moves and dropped the other angel to the ground, crawling over him. Using its wings to rub and touch the angel pinned to the ground.

Their voices carried as he started the climb. Dean rolled his eyes, those were definitely happy noises. He couldn’t decipher all the Enochian but he understood the phrases for begging and “Brother” so he figured he got the gist of what they were saying.

The begging kicked up a notch and Dean caught himself watching as Lucifer held Michael down with his wings and pried the set of wings covering Michael’s face away.  
Dean didn’t have a good spot to see Michael’s face, but he watched the strain of Lucifer’s arms as he held his brother in place with the grip on the smaller set of wings. Lucifer leaned down so his own wings could reach Michael’s face. Michael arched under him then the cage flooded with a white light, the elaborate markings that started from the base of the cage raced up the walls, illuminating the large room to the point Dean had to bury his eyes in the crook of his elbow because even with his eyes closed it was like looking into the sun.

He heard the echo of Sam’s laughing voice say, “Always were one to show off, brother.”

Bile rose in Dean’s throat and he refused to look back at the cage.  
Refused to entertain the idea that could have been him and Sam.  
Together. Forever.

Dean was almost out of view of the cage when he heard Adam, loud and clear. “You’re not even _doing_ anything. Stop killing me every time you wanna get your angel freak-on with your brother!”

From experience, Dean knew hell restored souls to mint condition at the end of the day. It seemed Adam’s body in here took nothing near that to restore.  
The raging snark gave Dean a strong urge to go back and get him.  
If Sam and him had been pre-destined to end up as angel chew toys, it didn’t sit well with him their bastard of a brother was taking all the punishment.

Even if he wasn’t raised by their dad, unsurprisingly Sam had been right; Adam was still a Winchester and therefore cursed.

Dean heard one of the Archangels rumble back with an Enochian response, then Adam's scoff, “Fuck you too asshole.”

Laughing to himself, Dean made up his mind.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean had been a demon for just over six months now. After the rocky start, Crowley was overall pleased with what the Mark of Cain had done to his very own knight of hell.

If Crowley hadn’t witness transformations like this during his time in hell, he never would have believed the change to be so drastic.

Some of the darker souls that ended up in Hell took to the demon form relatively easy. The destructive tendencies settling over them like a well-worn coat. But the darkness that was left in the wake of a righteous soul being twisted- they were always the most violent.  
Pure chaos. For some, it took decades to be able to pass as humans.

With Dean, it seemed the months of direct contact to the mark had relatively prepared his soul for the all-consuming darkness. 

He had hustled Dean out of the bunker immediately after he’d come to. Not only because Sam posed a genuine threat to their respective backsides, but because the new shape Dean’s soul was taking might cause him to gravitate towards Sam.  
Soulmate bonds rarely came out the other end of hell intact, but Crowley wasn’t willing to risk the chance Sam would pull Dean back. 

Dean was his insurance policy 'the Abbadon incident' was firmly put to bed.  
And quite the insurance policy he was. Dean had proven himself invaluable by disemboweling a spy that had managed to worm its way into Crowley's court. 

The chaos in Dean reared its head from time to time. Gutting a few of Crowley’s loyalists when they didn’t answer fast enough. But they were a dime a dozen. It was nothing at all to convince the others if they were to befall the same fate it was with honor to make such a sacrifice in the service of their king.  
And if the deaths kept Dean’s bloodlust manageable, then the others were pleased to know it was a sacrifice meant to keep their king safe.

It was refreshing to once again have an ace up his sleeve.  
Hell hadn’t been running this smooth since before all those yellow-eyed bastards took off for greener pastures.

While the raw power Dean possessed as a demon was staggering, Dean was still fundamentally _Dean_. Even with his morals on an extended vacation with no sign of returning, he was still a foul-mouthed, flannel wrapped hunter.  
The only real difference was he wasn't actively trying (and failing) to keep his all-powerful brother on the straight and narrow.

Dean was smart, tactical, and had picked up the intuition to know when he was being lied to. It was an invaluable skill that couldn’t be taught, and with the bunch down here it was vital for staying on top. He was proving to be more helpful that Crowley ever anticipated. 

Once Crowley was safely in his throne room and surrounded by his most loyal, Dean’s fancied himself an avenger and took to patrolling the lowest levels of Hell. Picking a few of the most immoral and dragging them out to play.  
Crowley liked to think of himself as an artist with a sharp object but the things Dean would do with the tools they gave him - a shiver raced up his spine and he adjusted himself. The tailored pants provided zero illusion to the imagines those thoughts brought. It was nostalgic to watch Dean work and catch glimpses of Alistair.

The truly unexpected pleasure of having Dean around, were the gifts he'd bring Crowley after his Earthly visits. 

At times the gift was the heads of a faction leader trying to make a name for themselves by opposing him. Other times it was with leads as to crossroads deals for people no one would miss.  
Most of the time the gift was human blood.

Crowley likened it to a cat bringing his master a kill.  
Dean never stuck around to find out what Crowley did with the gifts, which was just as well because it gave Crowley the ability to start in as soon as the door closed. Maintaining dignity was the hardest part of receiving Dean’s gifts.

Filling another syringe, Crowley pushed back his cuff and found a vein. A steady squeeze of the plunger delivered the powerful nose-clearing tang of “virgin” along with the warm burn that he’d come to associate with purified blood.

Only yesterday Dean had stopped by and presented him with a “tasting flight of blood”. The entire care package had contained several liters of blood with a variety of emotional spice. Crowley had already mentally added “sacrificial peril” to his list of future requests. He wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth, but he was curious as to how Dean was gaining access to such exquisite flavors.

Dismissing the worry with a click of his tongue, Crowley eased back into his seat and gave a deep sigh as the blood felt like millions of lips pressing kisses against his skin.

There was a brief rush of warm air, adding to the sensation, but also alerting him to the fact someone had teleported into his office. No one in Hell these days would have the stones to be so bold, so he knew it to be Dean before he fully recognized him.

Sure enough, Dean was occupying the seat across the desk from him. His boot was propped up and resting on the edge of the exotic wood carved desk. The demon sitting before him was a product of the mark through and through. He was all swagger and confidence with natural flirty smiles but when the light would hit his eyes just right, and the relaxed aura would give way to the apex predator sitting just under his skin.

Crowley eyed the mud wedged into the soul of the boot resting on his desk. “Were you raised in a barn?” He asked, his speech slurred as the blood made him lethargic.

“Car, actually.” Dean drawled.

Crowley hummed in acknowledgment, stupid questions get him stupid answers.  
“To what do I owe this pleasure?”

A flirty smile lifted the corner of Dean's lips, “Wanted to stop in and see my favorite King of Hell.”  
The tone had Crowley jerking upright in his chair, the- oh fuck.  
The motion had him realizing he currently had just over two liters of human blood in his system.  
“See how things were.” Dean continued as he set his feet on the floor and leaning forward. 

His playful smile twisting into something darker. “Wondering if you’d prefer your retirement to be somewhere warm or somewhere mild?” Dean’s bright green eyes didn’t leave Crowley’s as he kinetically flicked the nearest ball of Newton’s cradle on the desk. Starting the hypnotic sway of the desk toy.  
“I hear Seattle is nice this time of year.”

Crowley watched the sure movements of his charge. He recognized this conversation as the start of the revolt; This was Dean’s attempt to dethrone him. A monster of Crowley’s own making.

It was a good thing Crowley was prepared.

“Jacob.” Crowley said into the empty space of his office. Three Demons appeared in the room, the man addressed stood at the point of formation. His thick arms folded across his chest to display the bulging arm muscles of the human he possessed.

Dean’s cocky little smirk disappeared as he leaned back in the chair, giving the bigger man a considering once over. Pinching his eyebrows in a mockery of fear, Dean gave an exaggerated pout, “Oh whatever will I do?”

The chair was knocked backward as Dean attacked, sinking his blade into Demon number 3’s neck. Not waiting for the now empty husk to hit the ground, Dean pivoted and buried the knife between Jacob’s ribs and into his heart.

The last demon dropped to its knees, begging “Long live the Winchester King!” like the coward he was. 

Immediately, Dean rounded on Crowley, driving that accursed blade through Crowley’s hand and pinning him to the desk. 

Crowley hissed in pain and glared up at the smiling face of Dean Winchester. 

Evidently, he was not as well prepared for this upheaval as he had initially thought.

\- - 

With the foresight to not let anyone else in on his plan, Dean put the finishing touches on the devil’s trap as Crowley watched.

A brief spike of Dean’s dark aura made the painted lines on the floor flared white before cooling to a burnt red. Burning the seal on the floor that would remain for centuries to come.  
It ensured there would be no need for a watchdog. 

“Ta-da.” Dean said showing him the nothingness that was the room.

No windows, no lights, not even a steady drip of water. There were a few paintings stacked against each other leaning against the wall. The one facing the room had been the self-portrait that had once adorned the walls of Hell’s waiting line. Along with a few of his more cherished odds and ends.

In another corner was a pool of blood and a lump. 

Crowley had to squint to make out the body. The man’s neck was at an odd angle, his lifeless eyes catching the light that filled in around Dean’s form in the doorway.  
It was his current live-in tailor.

“I see you’re going for a total overhaul.” Crowley said inclining his head towards the body.

Dean scoffed, “If it were a total overhaul I’d kill you.” He inclined his head towards the body, “If I remember, snapped neck is better than your last one got. I could have eaten him." His tone told Crowley he was enjoying this far too much. 

Crowley turned and faced his once prodigy in dismay. “I’ve created a monster.”

Dean smiled at him and for the first time, Crowley felt real fear race up his spine.  
The red gleam of the Mark of Cain peaked under the sleeve of Dean’s henley as he advanced. Crowley knew the older Winchester was tall but the way he moved into Crowley’s space, the king of hell might as well have been a cockroach.

"You give yourself far too much credit.” Dean purred, he clamped his hand wide across Crowley’s throat, lifting him onto his toes. Dean ducked his head, making them eye level so he could leisurely watch Crowley struggle for air that wasn’t coming.  
“Oh, you let him out,” Dean said pressing his cheek against Crowley’s. He exhaled a thoughtful hum, his warm breath ghosting over Crowley’s neck as his lips brushed the shell of Crowley’s ear to whisper, “but I already was a monster."

Dean bodily spun him and shoved him into the devil’s trap. “Someone will be by to check on you in a few decades.”

The sound of a metal barrier being placed over the only door filled the room, then it was pitch black and silence.  
He was trapped in here.

Crowley dwelled on the thought for a few long moments before the traitorous thought ' _that’ll go in the wank-bank_ ' flashed through his mind.  
It was endlessly frustrating to know how true the thought it was, he had picked this body for its sensitivity after all.


	3. Chapter 3

Dean didn’t like to call himself vain -or at least not aloud- but he heard the stories about himself since he’d returned to Hell. Although Crowley had been a crowd favorite during the Abaddon debate, neither of the demons had anything on Dean’s popularity.  
The numbers of Demons that were team ‘Winchester King’ were, frankly, disgustingly high.

Dean was the legend that walked among them. Well on his way to becoming a top dog during his first stint in Hell. Then he has been raised from Hell and everyone knew the name _Dean Winchester_.

Among the legends surrounding Dean's popularity were the stories of how he’d helped stop Lucifer. As much as he loathed the whispers, honestly -something he was trying more now that he didn’t fucking care- he was something-akin-to grateful those stories had helped instilled him as someone to not fuck with.

The rumors that Dean knew “how to make Death his bitch” gave him the perfect amount of awe-inspired fear. Which had been something Crowley had been sorely lacking for some time now.

And with such celebrity status came the stories Dean wished would just die; “the Winchester has an _angel_ at his beck and call.”

That one was only true because Castiel wouldn't. Fucking. Quit.

Always going on about how 'we can save you' and 'it doesn’t have to be like this'. Dean had run into him twice now, the cloud fucker probably chasing him down with Sam’s help.  
Their echo chamber of optimism.

Speaking of optimism, it had been a pathetic sight to see Crowley put so much faith in him.  
With Crowley firmly in a lockbox, it was a relief to not have to worry about the King of Hell scheming behind his back. Or his lax attitude of late creating the opportunity for something else to move in and scheme on his behalf.

He thought the first phase of his plan was rather flawless. Taking advantage of Crowley’s addiction had been easy enough.  
Always bringing him some random stiff’s blood and making up a story to go along with it. And the crazy part was, Crowley bought it every time. Talking 'swallowed the sinker' he took the bait so well. He started making requests for things Dean wasn’t actually bringing him. Dean had been stealing blood from donation centers and running it over different herbs as he rebottled it to get the “different spices”. Apparently, betony and lavender gave blood a “virgin-pure of thought” tasting note.

All the while, Dean was using it as an excuse to take more extended recon missions watching for a pattern in the celestial brothers 'fight and fuck' routine.

In the time it took him to prepare, Dean watched to the point he knew what they would do next before they did it. Proving once and for all angels really were like mindless machines. They fought but never learned. Making their habits a truly endless cycle.

Adam was the only variable in the cage.  
Well, the angel's roles as seme and uke changed but it hardly registered it was so perfunctory. 

Adam was the only thing that _consistently_ changed.

Sometimes they would torture him until he couldn’t cry out anymore. Whether because they pushed too hard and killed him or because he just couldn’t vocalize anymore.  
Then, after Adam was for sure dead, they would do an angelic version of the Wild Thing.  
Sometimes Adam would wake up before the light burst from the cage and sometimes he wouldn’t wake up until they were fighting again.

Dean entertained himself by thinking about the yaoi porn he’d downloaded until the angels killed Adam. The angel's version of bumping uglies was the only time they didn't keep tabs on Adam, allowing Dean to move closer.

The platform of the cage was so high Dean would lose sight of Adam’s broken body when he crouched and snuck closer. The enormous size of the angels meant Dean’s only hope was to go unnoticed in the shadows.

To his benefit, Michael had Lucifer on his stomach and had, what looked like, a painful grip on the feathers of his wings. They were both distracted allowing Dean to crouch next to the cage and out of sight. 

From the distance of Dean’s initial recon, he hadn’t been able to see the almost incorporeal tendrils rise from their skin and wrap around each other. Each time the tendrils met and parted caused the angels to make those happy sounds. Lucifer was moaning into the ground as Michael moved over him.

Dean focused his attention on Adam's limp body. Drawing his eyes away from the God squad lest he look one of them in the face and his rescue plan goes to shit.  
Adam rejuvenated and gave a groan of disgust before summoning enough energy to turn his head away from the angels who were getting progressively more into it. He made eye contact with Dean and frowned in confusion but didn’t otherwise move. 

Dean pressed a finger to his lip for Adam to remain silent. The kid gave him a slow blink, his eyes going unfocused as he ignored Dean.

Above them, the archangels changed positions, Michael sitting across Lucifer’s chest, his knees digging into his brother’s second set of wings keeping him pinned.  
They were completely absorbed in each other, the smallest set of wings tangled and wrapped around their heads, narrowing their focus to each other.

It was the distraction Dean had been waiting for.  
He reached through the cage and grabbed Adam by the arm, yanking him through the gap in the bars. Adam let out a sound of protest that was swallowed by the scream of rage from inside the cage.  
With his ears ringing, Dean stumbled another step before shoving Adam to the ground and using his own body as a shield, hoping he was strong enough for whatever the archangels could manage from their prison.

Dean was tense, waited for the invisable hands of their power to throw him across the room, break bones, something. Adam clung weakly to Dean’s shirt, his breath labored as if it took everything out of him to just lie on the ground.  
The screams of rage continued around them but they were untouched. 

Changing a glance behind them, the flood of light Dean had been watching for weeks was six inches shy of reaching his foot. He had managed to throw them outside the perimeter of what the cage allowed the angels’ power to extend to. He’d done it. Adam was out. 

A sense of having pulled one over on gods pumped triumph through his veins. He could walk away without consequence.  
The things that brought his life to ruin wouldn't even get the consolation prize of his bastard half-brother.

Dean rose to his feet, Adam giving a weak protest as he was gathered in Dean’s arms. 

“ _ **Dean Winchester**_.” A voice called out.

Dean’s ears were ringing with a high pitch echo, and he forced himself to take a step away.  
Adam pressed his face to Dean’s chest of his own violation. The story of Orpheus rose in his mind. Except, his mind supplied, if he didn’t get away not only would Adam be trapped here forever, Dean would be right alongside him. 

“ _ **My perfect vessel**_.” The voice said again.

Dean took another step.  
He tangled his fingers in Adam’s hair. Forcing Adam to keep his face shielded in Dean’s chest. He couldn’t take the risk of Adam seeing the archangel’s face now. Not when he didn’t know what would happen to either of them. 

“ _ **Mournful how the Righteous Man has fallen so low**_.” It accused.

“Pathetic how after a millennium of planning you’re stuck in a cage.” Dean snarled, “You tell me, who came out on top?” 

A different voice answered, “ **Who indeed**?”

Dean’s fingers dug into Adam’s bicep as he held him close and started walking away with purpose. Back to the Lake of Fire and away from what was supposed to be his destiny.

He didn’t turn around when the sound of the angels wrestling started again.


	4. Chapter 4

“Put me down.”

“Not happening.”

“Put me down, you incorporeal fucking coward!” Adam snapped, trying to squirm out of Dean’s arms.

The further they got from the cage, the more lively and foulmouthed Adam became.  
And the dumber his insults got.

“Sam and that fucking idiot he’s got for a fucking [ _Akh_ ]!” Adam fought harder, “I don’t want to see the world through your eyes or whatever magic carpet ride this is supposed to be!”  
Even without Dean’s enhanced strength, he wasn’t difficult to hold still.  
“Showing me how close Earth is from the cage. I get it, they were supposed to go out Thelma and Louise style. But Dean had to go and _care_ for this dying rock!” Adam dropped his voice into a deep tone, “It’s always going to be you and me, Sammy.”  
Dean got the feeling he was being insulted.  
Adam shifted gears but wasn’t done, “Idiot [ _Akh_ ]. Not saying yes when it was supposed to be you!” He punched and scratched at Dean’s back, “You’re the reason I’m in the cage in the first place so don’t think you’re doing me a favor here.”

Frustrated with getting nowhere against Dean's strength, Adam put his medical knowledge to use. Driving his elbow hard down into Dean's collarbone. The pain of the bone snapping had Dean’s knees buckling, sending them both to the ground. 

The pain was replaced with rage as Dean could only clench his teeth as Adam scurried a few feet away. The fact he didn't run told Dean he knew he couldn't get away. If Adam wanted to start literally wrestling for dominance he was in for a world of hurt.  
It suited Dean just fine because he had some questions, like how this little fucker didn’t know what was real and what was fake.  
Against the pain, Dean held his arm close to his body as the numbing feeling of the demonic energy knit his bone back together. 

“Oh no,” Dean said as he got to his feet and dropped into a crouch, “getting you out was purely selfish.” 

Adam mimicked his position, fury evident in his eyes, “That supposed to mean?”

As they moved around each other, Dean noticed Adam’s center of gravity was far too high. Similar to the sloppy way Sam used to fight before he started getting serious.

“Means that I pulled you from the fire and you’re mine now."

“Like. Hell.” Adam growled. 

"Finders keepers and all that.” Dean grinned.

Adam's lunge was telegraphed long before he made a move.  
It was embarrassingly easy to wrap his arms around Adam and hold him still.  
It was like fighting a child. Which, Dean guessed Adam technically still was. Looking the same age when he fell into the cage and all. 

“I can put you back?” Dean offered.

When his struggling got him nowhere, Adam gave a huff and turned his face away. “No.” He said with a tight voice. “Anything you drag me to now is better than watching you and Lucifer fuck it out.”

Dean frowned at him.  
How hard did the kid hit his head?

“The way I see it, if you don't want to go back you have three options.”

Adam gave a sudden burst of movement, driving an elbow into Dean’s chest and slipping free enough to turn and bash that same elbow into Dean’s nose.  
Pain radiated through his skull and Dean gave a growl of fury while Adam scrambled to get into that sloppy stance.  
He got as far as getting his footwork right before Dean tackled him to the ground. The take down rolling them twice. He didn't care if Adam’s head bounced off the hard rock when he went down.  
Dean settled over his thighs, pinning his arms to his side by resting his knees on Adam’s wrists and leaning into him. The kid blinked away the daze and glared. He tried to buck Dean off but the most he could manage in the hold was to squirm and kick his feet.

Adam let out an inhuman scream of rage and terror, “Don’t hold me down!”

Dean watched him passively.  
Obviously beating the fuck out of him wasn’t going to focus his attention.

Releasing him enough for Adam to get to his knees, Dean grabbed his wrist -fuck, he was small like Sam’s teenager phase- and twisted his arm until he was forced to roll with the movement or break his arm. Adam’s chest hit the ground and Dean straddled his kicking legs.  
He wasn’t going anywhere until Dean wanted him to.

"I’ll do whatever I damn well please and you’ll thank me.” Dean calmly told him.

As they held eye contact over Adam’s shoulder, his look became more and more defiant. Dean couldn’t help the burst of pride. The kid was a Winchester through and through.

Maybe they could come to an agreement where Adam wasn’t a pain in his ass and, more importantly, didn’t think he was still in the cage.  
Staring down at the struggling form of his bastard younger brother, Dean realized he was going to have to babysit this little asshole. If he were left to run around, he’d probably end up as some demon’s bitch, and Dean would forget about him all over again.  
The thought of leaving him to his suffering left a bad taste in his mouth.

The problem was, he didn’t know what he was going to do with his kid brother tagging along.

Adam gave another frustrated scream and pawed at the dirt. Dean didn’t have to wait long for him to wear himself out.  
If the kid had a day of training in his life he might have had a chance of getting out of Dean’s hold, or least do more than writhe like a worm on a hook.  
But no. Instead of grappling and shooting practice, this brother had baseball games and birthdays. He’d been a medical student when the ghouls got him. Never spent a day in his life working with his hands.

Dean started down at Adam. Instead of muscle, he was soft, smooth, unmarked skin only broke up by the occasional gathering of freckles.  
He was good looking. Had the beginning of broad shoulders. Was probably going to be built more like Sam with those slim hips.

Not to mention the arrogant (for-his-face-pressed-to-the-dirt) look reminded him of that time Sam kept demanding to be let go because he’d popped had a boner when they were wrestling and was too embarrassed to laugh it off like Dean had. When Sam wouldn’t talk about it, Dean called him a prude and Sam stormed off.

Which was why it didn’t surprise him to notice Adam’s dick was heavy between his legs.

Okay, maybe Adam wasn’t so different from them after all.  
If it kept him out of trouble, it wouldn’t be _too much_ to introduce him to a few hunting basics. And once Adam demonstrated he knew what was real, he’d be free to go off and do his own thing.

Weirdest part would be thinking of Adam as his brother.

The thought didn’t rev his engine like it did with Sammy. That little skip-a-beat feeling he’d get when he’d catch Sammy staring at him and neither of them would look away. Always wondering what Sam would do if he tried to steal a kiss.

Spreading Adam out and “fucking him until he couldn’t walk” sounded fun but…. 

Eh, what the hell?

Dean rolled them onto their side, tangling his legs with Adam’s to keep him from kicking, and pinned Adam to his chest with a hand around his throat. He used his free hand to slap a handprint against Adam’s exposed stomach.

“The way I see it you have three options.” Dean said making sure his lips brushed the shell of Adam’s ear.

Adam shuttered in his arms and used his limited movement to claw at Dean’s side, not able to do more than grab a fist of Dean’s jacket. He went still when Dean briefly set his teeth against Adam’s ear, “Option one, you go back in the cage to be a chew toy for God’s once favorite angels.” He nipped at Adam’s ear again, “Option two, you go into hell’s batting order and fight your way up the ranks. It’ll be a few centuries before you see the light of day again.”

Keeping the lobe of Adam’s ear between his teeth, Dean made sure Adam’s wrist was trapped beneath his knee before dropping a hand down to rub three fingers against Adam’s taint. Working firm little circles to his asshole, soaking in the mew of approval as Adam tried to push into the touch. 

“Option three,” Dean moved his hand from Adam’s throat to cover his mouth and nose, cutting off his ability to breath, “come with me, and I’ll show you the ropes and how to hang as many people as you can from them.”

Adam turned his head to glare at Dean as much as the hold would allow. His calm an attempt to wait Dean out.  
With a huff of laughter, Dean started counting back from sixty.  
He started a slow exhale across Adam’s shoulder, parted his lips on the inhale so Adam could hear him taking a deep breath.

Another couple of calm exhales against Adam’s skin and he started to thrash in Dean’s grip. The instinct to breathe winning over what sense he seemed to possess. 

Dean held him until the sixty seconds were up, long after Adam’s thrashing and muffled pleas became frantic.

His gasping breath was punctuated with a whimper as he filled his lungs. “Torture.” Adam panted, “You’re offering me torture.”

He gripped Adam’s balls in his hand and gave them a sharp tug, earning a protesting moan and Adam’s hand scrambling for purchase against Dean’s hip. 

“Most don’t ever get a choice.” Dean said dragging a hand up Adam’s stomach, his hand finding Adam’s hard nipple. “And most don’t get turned on by the offer.”

Adam’s nostrils flared in anger, and Dean could almost feel the way Adam mentally slipped back to the cage, “Don’t know how many times I have to tell you fucking angels; I don’t have brothers! Stop trying to make me play the game by giving me favor because _we’re blood_!”

Dean watched Adam try to control his temper. He’s seen first hand how short the kid’s fuse had been when he was alive, but it seemed Hell had almost burned that down to nothing. 

Which was interesting considering Sam seemed almost passive after the cage.  
All the anger leading up to being used as an archangel condom had dissipated in Sam. Instead of lashing out at whatever part of the cage lingering in his mind, Sam’s hand became a mangled mess of dead nerve endings because he kept it to himself. 

Dean gave a tug to Adam’s balls, a breath caught in a moan as Adam arched against him.  
Failing Sam was a fact he accepted and could do nothing to make amends for. But with Adam. With Adam, Dean could prove he knew precisely how to apply pain to keep him focused on reality. Instead of giving Adam the tools to shock himself out of his own mind, Dean would make Adam dependant on him by becoming the tool that kept him grounded.  
It would ensure Adam stayed close and maintained what little sanity he had left.

Saying 'yes to Michael' debt repaid.

Easing the nuts in his hand into a long stretch, Adam squirmed against his chest as he fought between leaning into it or try to escape. “The pain is different here than it is in the cage.” Dean murmured against Adam’s neck. “This is real.”

Adam snorted, “Flag at half mast should tell you if I think it’s real.” He exhaled and took a hard earned breath. The profile of his glare was back, his eyes clearer than they were a moment ago. “But I’ve been there, done that. Got real acquainted with Sam for a couple hundred years. Doubt you’ll have anything that will “wow” me.”

And there was the dark humor to that sparkling personality of his, Dean thought.  
“Not a had one, had ‘em all situation.”

Adam scoffed and Dean decided he wanted him on his stomach. The next time he struggled, Dean released his throat and made a grab for his shoulder, giving him the feeling of escape when Dean didn’t find purchase against his arm.  
Adam rolled away and dropped into a crouched position. The stance was much steadier than it had been to start. 

Interesting. Maybe he’d picked up a thing or two while he was stuck with Sammy down there?  
Interesting but useless against Dean’s practiced muscles.

Dean kicked Adam’s feet out from under him and dropped him to the ground. He kept Adam face down with a hand splayed across the center of his back. The uncoordinated attempt to fight him off only resulted in Dean catching Adam’s wrists and pinning them to his lower back. Settled over one of Adam’s thighs, it gave him an unobstructed view of that shapely ass on display.

Dean gave it an open palm swat, earning an unchecked yelp and Adam’s fists clenching as the pain rolled through his body.

“Do you know why it feels different?” Dean asked as his hand connected to Adam’s ass with a loud crack.  
The way he arched against the ground was a telegraph to how clear his mind was becoming. Singular focus.

Fuck did he wish he could have used this on Sammy when he’d slip away from Dean in the middle of a motel room.  
It was like watching magic in slow motion.

“Because it’s real.” Dean said as he pinched at the thin skin of Adam’s inner thigh.  
When he switched legs to ensure even bruising, Adam yelped and tired to buck Dean off.  
“This-” Dean dug his fingers halfway down Adam’s thigh and held until he gave another cry and started to squirm, “-feels real because it’s not the sensation of pain, is _is_ pain.” He switched legs and pinched hard again. 

“Or-or you heaven rejects are bending the rules.”

“Fuck the rules.” Dean spat and shoved Adam to his knees and overpowered him until his ass was laid over Dean’s crossed legs. 

With a few hard smacks against Adam’s ass had him rocking across Dean’s lap with each blow, it was clear Dean was going to get bored before his hand could paint all of Adam’s ass and thighs with that pretty flush. Which meant he was going to have to try for a complete cover another time and settle for only coloring Adam’s ass black and blue.  
He should start wearing a belt.

As Dean gave an aggressive massage of the bruised flesh between his second set of 20 swats, he could read the tension in Adam’s body as getting closer to accepting his new role.

After the third set, there were tear tracks down Adam’s cheeks, and he’d stopped fighting.

“Let me go.” He whined, sounding all the world like he was held immobile by his big brother.  
It stirred something dark and hot in Dean’s stomach.

He wrapped Adam’s still hard dick in a loose hold and used his other hand to press the pad of his thumb against the hole he’d been intentionally neglecting. “Still waiting on an answer.” Dean told him as he slowly started jerking Adam off with the light touch. “Option three comes with the bonus of big brother getting you off.”

Adam growled something that sounded suspiciously like “ _defining_ ” and abandoned trying to fight Dean before he even started. “Show me the ropes and I pick the people we hang.” Adam demanded.

Dean laughed and tightened his grip on Adam’s dick, focusing on getting him off rather than teasing him.  
He’d picked the right choice.  
He deserved a reward.


	5. Chapter 5

It had taken years of practice -and almost dying from lack of sleep- for Sam to be able to suppress his premonitions to nothing more taxing on his body than sneezing.  
The image of Metatron’s blade sinking into Dean’s chest had haunted him for days leading up the encounter with that Dudley Dawson looking dick. (He’d looked it up just once to make sure Metatron wasn’t wearing the actor who played Booger. It wouldn't be the weirdest thing to ever happen to them.)  
The vision was a drop of water into the bucket of ways he could have prevented Dean’s death. He should have recognized Dean’s need to hunt earlier. He should have helped direct it somewhere productive until he could find a cure, a way to free his brother.

He also should have noticed Dean’s obsessive behavior long before now. It had seemed a bit too healthy for a grief consumed Dean to blame someone other than himself for Kevin’s death. Even if it filled Sam with guilt for the role he had played. It should have also been more of a flag when Dean picked up Castiel’s crusade and started to meddle in angel affairs.

Sure, the religion they were born to was having an issue with the "good and evil balance", heaven in disarray every other summer, but what could two humans do? They'd already tore up the ending to their part of the story. The rest was to be written without them because what could they possibly do?

‘Die trying’ was a shitty consolation prize.

The first thing Sam did was go into denial.  
Dean couldn't be dead.  
Cracking the window to help ignore the overwhelming smell of blood, he kept expecting a snore from Dean's position. He was curled in the passenger seat the same way he'd always sleep in the Impala.  
Even after Sam put him to bed, he kept waiting for Dean to open his eyes and ask him what he was doing.  
But Dean never took a breath.

After an hour of Castiel not answering the phone, Sam quickly accepted Castiel would be of no assistance. He needed to start formulating a plan to get into Heaven and get Dean’s soul back. If Sam could get to Heaven, he could find Ash and get some help tracking Dean down. It was just a matter of figuring out how to get there and back.

After a disassociating moment of standing in the kitchen and washing the blood from his hands, Sam started going through his options.

If he couldn’t get a direct line to heaven, he might be able to get a pseudo line by going through hell.  
Crowley would taunt and flirt and drag his feet but Sam knew he could wait the demon out. Anything the bastard wanted could be negotiated. His biggest flaw was he had a soft spot when it came to them. Over the years Sam had learned where to apply pressure. For some reason, begging seemed to get his ass to agree faster. A few tears in his eyes and Crowley was all but offering Sam a warm blanket and a hug.

That bastard could be held responsible for this mess, he was going to fix it.

The summoning spell worked because Sam felt the familiar heat he’d come to associate with a demon nearby, but he was still alone in the dungeon. Crowley had been summoned alright, but he’d made a detour.  
Sam growled as he stood up and started towards Dean’s room.

The walk between the storage room and the crew wing wasn’t long, but in the minutes after Crowley arrived, Sam felt a stabbing pain in his side before it disappeared completely.  
Along with Crowley's aura.

Sam took off for Dean’s room in a dead run.  
No, no, no, no, no.

Dean’s room was empty. A single folded piece of paper in the center of the mattress.

He fully anticipated a ransom note from Crowley. Some morbid means of trying to get Sam under his thumb now that Dean was out of the picture.

He didn’t expect Dean’s sharp writing.  
"Sammy let me go"

It felt like a punch to the gut. Sam couldn't catch his breath for a long minute. 

Why?  
And more importantly, how?  
He’d spent hours in the car with Dean’s body and not once had he taken a breath. Brain damage alone- Crowley.

That scum of the earth had crossed them for the last time.  
Sam had never imagined the lies that demon had been filling Dean’s head with over the past year would lead to this.

If that self-proclaimed king of hell thought he could getaway with kidnapping Sam’s brother, he had another thing coming.


	6. Chapter 6

A few weeks had gone by and Adam was reveling in his new found freedom.  
Dean still caught him occasionally talking to an empty room, but he was learning to seek Dean out when the angels in his head starting narrating his life. 

The perpetual 19-year-old hormones were going strong and making him more than willing for Dean to fuck his doubts away. 

You wouldn’t hear Dean complain how often he got his dick wet.  
He liked the way Adam gagged when he tried to swallow Dean to the root.  
Appreciated how much of a whore Adam is for a dick in his ass. How nine times out of ten Adam would lie to him about how well he’d stretched his ass and made the hottest noises when Dean slammed into him.  
He likes how Adam is slowly working his way through the porn clips Dean has in his favorites. The first time Dean caught him in the act, Adam used those big eyes and an innocent act -”It looks like he’s in pain.”- that lasted as long as it took for Dean to finger fuck him open.

Even now, Adam had taken to riding shotgun in the Impala relatively well. It soothed some part of Dean to know he had someone he could depend on next to him. 

He cursed the phantom limb feeling of Sam’s absence.  
How Sam would insist they listen to one his tapes for every two of Dean’s. (The resentment Dean had for The Kinks was palpable.)  
Adam made him miss Sammy because until Jessica’s death they'd never been on the road just the two of them. They were always tagging along with dad or on some old bus surrounded by potential cannibal clowns to meet up with dad who was hunting a cannibal clown.  
Sam's words.

Dad had given Dean the Impala a summer after Sammy left for Stanford. They never had the chance to drive around together like a couple of reckless kids. Their time together since Sam left for school had always been followed by a cloud of depression and duty.  
Dean couldn’t even be happy about having Sammy back because the reason for it made their mission to kill that demon all the more urgent. If possible, more personal. 

But with Adam riding shotgun, it was every bad idea Dean ever had come to life.

“Oh, here’s another one, speed up.” Adam rolled down the window, fixated on the upcoming posted speed. Leaning out the window, he timed the throw of the empty bottle to shatter against the sign with a sharp crack.  
With childlike glee he seated himself back in the car and reached for another bottle of Mickey’s, informing Dean, “I’m so good I should be paid.”

“Sure,” Dean agreed, “lots of people looking to hire punks to break glass bottles against road signs.” 

Instead of answering, Adam made a face at the picture on the inside of the bottle cap. “The fuck is ‘slam dancing’?” He flicked the bottle top into the back seat.

Dean rolled his eyes and brought his own green bottle to his lips, “How fucking old are you?”

“Shut up old man.”

Dean missed this snarky and playful version of Sammy. But Sam’s need to get away from Dad ended a lot of things for them. 

Adam took a swig of the Mickey’s in his hand. They’d bought three six packs, two at Adam’s feet and another empty in the backseat. It was Dean’s job to find them a place to park so they could finish them off together. Adam adding to the sense of urgency because he was drinking one about every 15 minutes. 

Dean desired to get him outside in the middle of nowhere with nothing but the headlights for illumination. 

“So when do we pick up Sam?”

Never, Dean thought. Sam meant responsibility and obligations. There was always something that goes bump in the night on the prowl to rip someone’s throat out. Dean could care less if some schmuck bled out in an alley.  
“After you grow some chest hair.”

“Very funny fucker, but like, when?” Adam gestured between them with the green glass bottle. “I’m touch starved, you’re a demon, and he’s still got that thing with his blood. He’d fit in just fine.”  
Dean’s head snapped to him. He didn’t have time to question… any of that because Adam kept going.  
“Goddamnit! It’s awesome to say it out loud and not have to listen to them argue about who had more of a hand in The Boy King!” The capitalization was evident in his voice. “ **If I hadn’t instilled the idea in my first the addiction never would have happened.** ” Adam took on another poor imitation of a gruff tone, “ _ **But if I hadn’t taken guard that night the angels wouldn’t have allowed that thing inside**_. Round and round they’d go. Luci was still arrogant right up until Sam’s soul exited stage left. Then it was just me and Mikey for him to monologue to death. Only, you know.” Adam made a gesture that somehow encompassed immortality in the cage.

Adam was a wealth of random facts about him and Sammy and his time underground only seemed to reinforce that. Like how Adam and Michael were one entity, able to read Sam and Lucifer as one entity. Right up until Sam's body was pulled from the cage and the balance wouldn't allow Adam to be Michael's vessel. Pissed they didn't have the same number of toys, Lucifer took to using the impressions written on Sam's soul to create alternate realities to torture them all with.  
With all the fundamental ways the angels tore at them, Sam and Adam apparently had a few memories that overlapped.

The knowledge that Michael himself stood watch over their hours the night their mom burned- well, not _their_... whatever.  
Dean was glad the leader of the dick bags got sucked into the cage when Sam jumped.

 

After a particularly fulfilling pitstop where Dean finger fucked Adam to orgasm twice and fucked him hard enough to make Adam beg for his third orgasm. They decided to head to a local hole in the wall to keep drinking.

With their 18 beers divided unevenly between them -because Adam was a fucking fish- a fight was bound to be the cherry to top the night off.  
Humans weren’t much for his new strength, but in a pinch, it was at least entertaining to make some drunks look pathetic in a place everybody knew their name. 

Dean had seen to it that Adam got a proper education in how to handle a pool cue. It wasn’t fun to mop the floor with someone who didn’t know what they were doing when there was no money involved.  
At first, he’d entertained the idea of Adam paying out by giving it up, but it wasn’t much of a prize because he was already getting it for free.

As they walked across the impossibly long parking lot, Dean chuckled and wrapped Adam in a headlock -giving him a hard noogie until Adam punched him in the kidney a few times- all the while singing, "Get your money for nothin', get the tricks for free."

Adam gave him a final push to separate them and Dean allowed it.  
"It's _chick for free_. Asshole." Adam corrected.

Dean grinned at him and ducked close, whispering, "You want me to start calling you a chick?" He grabbed Adam's ass and shoved his thigh between Adam's legs encouraging him to grind against the muscle while breathing heavily against his ear, "I'll do whatever you _ask_ me to sweetheart."

Adam thrust against him before coming back to himself. Dean blocked his attempt to knee him in the balls with a laugh and released him.  
"Get your money for nothin', get your chicks for free."

Adam took another swipe at him before retreating into the bar.

The wind shifted and Dean paused, the familiar spider-like-itch of a demon was nearby.  
He waited for the demon to make its self-known. Abaddon's lackeys were still coming out of the woodwork to get a piece of the demon minted Winchesters.

“The king has sealed himself in the stronghold again.” Dean turned and regarded her for a long moment in emotionless confusion. Crowley wasn’t— Sam.  
She meant Sam.

There were demons loyal to Dean because of Sam’s title. Power reigned supreme and the convoluted notion that the demons didn’t actually want Lucifer in charge (the same mentality Crowley had towards the fallen angel) made “the Boy King” logical as the next in line of succession.  
And to ensure their king’s ascension, they needed to make sure Dean wouldn’t be drug back to humanity kicking and screaming.  
A lie they’d bought hook-line-and-sinker. Dean didn’t feel the need to inform them they were told to keep tabs on Sam because eventually he would start taking borderline suicidal risks the longer they were apart. He knew they wouldn’t allow Sam to die if they could prevent it.  
Dean didn’t want anything to do with Sam, but he didn’t want him _dead_. It would be a waste of a perfectly good chess piece.

The demon continued when the silence between them grew, “The angel is with him.”

Dean bit back a sigh. Of course Castiel was going to attach himself to Sam. He always stuck around right until the moment they formed a plan then he was nowhere to be found.  
They were gonna have to get that featherbrain a bell.

“And that’s news?”

“Together they are more effective at tracking you,” she gave a pleased smile, “but my lord keeps losing the trail. Getting caught up in the fact you’re traveling with someone. We assume he doesn’t know who.”

Dean raised an eyebrow in doubt.  
It was a matter of time at this rate, Dean mused. Adam didn’t care to avoid cameras like the pain in the ass he was.

“If you’d like, we can gut a few people to throw him off your trail until you’re ready?” The demon suggested.

Dean did sigh at that. Slowly but surely he was surrounding himself with people that all wanted Sam at his hip. This one was determined to be included in Dean’s plan to bring Sam in. A trap they would lay for Sam so they could bring him into his _true destiny_.  
All that shit.

Dean didn’t want to hear it.  
“Let me know if something changes.”

“Sir?” She said stepping closer to him, unwilling to take ‘no’ for an answer. Dean regarded her for the quickest way to run her through. With Adam being his only sparring partner lately, this might do him some good.

“He said scram.”  
Adam was perched on the handrail, chin in hand, watching them.

As if finally sensing her complete disadvantage, she slipped out of Dean’s reach and disappeared into the shadows.

Raging fury blinded him. Dean grabbed Adam’s ankle and pulled, catching him by the collar of his shirt and snarling in his face, “Something you want to tell me?”  
If he thought he knew what was best for Sam-

“Killing them is only going to cause you problems in the long run.” Adam’s gaze shifted to somewhere over Dean’s shoulder before he refocused on Dean’s face, “Allies are a pain in the ass, but if you position them right they might end up taking a bullet meant for you.”

Dean regarded him for a long minute. He hated when the little brat was right. If he kept killing the demons vocally loyal to Sam, he might lose sight of who his potential allies are. 

Knowing he’d lost but unsure how to save face Dean muttered, “Whatever” and disappeared into the bar, expecting Adam to follow. 

 

They’d been there for less than 90 minutes and the first thing Adam had done walking in was loudly beg Dean to teach him to play pool.  
He’d drawn the attention of everyone in the bar with his broad smile and already tipsy mannerisms.

Now Adam was losing at pool. Badly. After every shot, he’d swaying over to Dean with his glass of whiskey coke and multi-colored straws. 

He kept making a drunken farce of how close he was standing to Dean. Touching him suggestively before putting a single step of obvious distance between them.  
The whole thing looking as though they’d had the conversation about appropriate distance in public multiple times and Adam couldn’t help himself.

All the while leaning heavily into Dean’s arm after each shot. His hand staying longer than strictly necessary after a particularly good shot by Dean.  
Drawing more attention to his behavior when the guys they were playing against had to remind him it was his turn. He'd been too busy obviously watching Dean buy them another round.

He gave the guy a big grin and then would hit the ball, wildly off course as it bounced off the side and gently tapped the ball he had been aiming for. With a slurred “Damnit” Adam retreated to his barstool with a pout.

He’d set the guy up with next to nothing for a shot, allowing Dean to come back and sink three balls in rapid succession.

Once they were down to the 8-ball, Dean having to remind Adam he had to call the pocket before the shot, Adam turned and made an aborted move to run his hand down Dean’s chest. Instead, settling for patting him on the cheek with a coy grin before turning around and wagging his ass at Dean as he lined up. 

“Sometime today Nancy.” The guy told him.

Dean raised an eyebrow and Adam turned to the guy with a grin, “But I wanna show you how good I am with a pole.” Adam said sinking the 8-ball with a hard hit that gave away his true experience.  
He winked at the guy as he straightened to his full height, throwing his hands in the air in celebration, “It went it!” He cheered. “Did you see that? I got one!” He gave Dean a hug -which wasn’t returned- and continued, “Oh my god that was so fun! We should play another game, maybe that one with the cute little pucks and the salt!”

Followed by a big drink from Dean’s glass just to ham-up how drunk he was. The little shit.

“Deals a deal.” Dean called across the table.

The one guy had already stormed off, leaving his buddy to fork over the 2 bills they’d bet on the game.

“Hustling around here is a good way for you to end up out in the back forty.” The smaller of the two warned. 

Dean scoffed, “You’ve seen too much Starsky and Hutch. Lady Luck gave the kid a blowjob.”

The guy’s face furrowed in anger and he stomped off. 

Adam came up beside him, calm and stone cold sober, “Are we going to meet them in the back forty?” The slightest drawl on the word meant he was mocking the guy. 

“Naw. Bar is full of cowards.” Dean pocked the money and gave Adam a grin, “You can suck my dick in the bathroom though,” he didn’t wait for Adam to respond before he was walking with purpose.

The bathroom was nothing to write home about. Two urinals, one stall, two sinks against the wall, and empty. It was perfect.

“Lucy, I’m home!” Adam kicked the door so hard when he walked in it bounced off the wall. 

“Get my dick out Ricky.” Dean told him as he unzipped his fly.

Adam waved his hand at him, “No Splain' needed.” 

“Shut the fuck up and get over here.” 

Dean always liked kissing. It felt like a conversation of things to come. How aggressive he needed to be to get them to submit, how long it might take to get them there. Kissing Adam was like kissing an inexperienced virgin every time. He was always over eager and still slightly too much saliva.  
He was learning but slowly. Only because Dean had no real desire to teach him. Mostly it was an orientation to give himself a game plan.  
Giving Adam’s interested dick a few rough tugs, he pushed Adam to his knees and offered his own cock for Adam to suck. 

Wasting no time, Adam swallowed him down. 

The bathroom door opened but he didn’t hear it swing close.  
“Have an admirer,” Dean cooed at Adam, grabbing a fist full of Adam’s hair and holding him choking on Dean’s dick. “Doesn’t know if he should watch you swallow my cock or report it.”

Adam choked on the next bob of his head, Dean’s grip not allowing him to turn and look.  
“No, no. You know what you’re supposed to be doing.” Dean pulled Adam off, holding the tip of his dick inside Adam’s mouth. “He’s still making a decision.”

“Jesus,” the guy exhaled, then the door closed.

Dean smirked and slapped his dick against Adam’s lips a few times before shoving Adam down until his nose ground against Dean’s pubic hair. Adam’s fingers flexed against his thighs as he struggled for breath.

“Hear that? Sounds like a challenge. Can you get me off before he comes back with security?”  
After several long minutes of Adam working Dean with his tongue, it appeared the guy didn’t leave for security after all.

Just as well. It meant he could fuck Adam against the sink. It seemed a waste to not take advantage of the fact he’d spent all those minutes a couple hours ago prepping Adam to take it up the ass.  
With his fist in Adam’s hair, he pulled him to his feet and faced him towards the mirror.

“Pants off.” Dean demanded.

Adam scrambled for the zipper, getting his jeans around his knees and bending at the waist.  
Dean laid his hand on Adam’s side, dragging his fingers across Adam’s skin, pushing his shirt out of the way so he could press the pad of his fingers against Adam’s nipples.

With a hip tilt in an invitation, Adam braced himself against the lip of the sink and Dean kissed the tip of his dick against Adam’s ass.  
Pressed the tab for hand soap, Dean slathered his dick in the Pepto Bismol colored liquid.

Adam was watching him in the reflection of the mirror. His bright eyes held a challenge Dean wanted to see wiped away.

He let out a high keen when one push Dean filled him to the root.

“Love the way you take a cock.” Dean praised. His fingers finding and twisting Adam’s nipple, “Whimpering like it’s going to split you in half each time. That it’s too big.” He gave a shallow thrust and Adam impatiently pushed back against him. “But it’s an act because you’re such a whore for it.” he pulled back until the tip was almost free before slamming back, “Tightening around me as if it’s the best thing you’ve ever felt.”

 

\- -

 

The sink he had grabbed for stability quickly became part of his prison as the power of Dean’s thrusts forced him to brace himself or faceplant into it. 

Each time Dean rolled a nipple between his fingers he pulled out. The choice became lean into the pain and risk Dean slipping out completely, or bracing himself and ride out the full effect of Dean's dick splitting him open. Submitting was by far the more pleasurable option of the two.

The bathroom door opened and closed a few times, each time with a different audible sound of surprise. He stopped caring when Dean's big hand settled on his shoulder and rocked him backward to meet each hard thrust.

Adam’s hand jumped to his own dick, his hand chilled from the death grip he’d had on the sink made pleasure pool in his balls at the first desperate pull.

Dean readjusted his grip, fingers digging into Adam’s throat just the wrong side of painful in an attempt to make him arch the way he wanted. It was less painful to hold his breath, making the pleasure from each hard thrust race up his spine bringing him closer to the edge.

“Fuck m’close.” Dean’s gravel-tone told him.  
With a moan, Adam pushed back against him silently encouraging him to keep going because he was right there too.

Dean’s thrusting abruptly stopped and his hold on Adam’s hip turned painful followed by the warm liquid feeling of Dean filling him up. The hard exhale against the back of Adam’s neck made him shiver, but it still wasn’t enough.  
Scrambling for Dean’s hand around his neck, he held on and leaned back into him. He couldn’t have Dean pulling out when he was this close. He started jerking himself harder, paying attention to the head, anything to get him over the edge in case Dean’s patience ran out before he got his.

What he didn’t expect was Dean’s mouth on the side of his neck. His lips a soft drag that had Adam tilting his head to give Dean better access. He stripped his dick faster, feeling the crest starting to rush up to meet him. Strong fingers giving his nuts a teasing light touch before wrapping around the base and slowly pulling until he was rocking back, unintentionally, but not unwelcome, impaling himself on Dean’s still hard dick.  
Dean started a shallow motion of his hips, off rhythm from the way he was playing with Adam’s balls. 

The final, violent pluck of his nipple had him bowing forward as his orgasm rushed through him. 

Through the haze of his orgasm, he noticed Dean’s hand across his chest had prevented him from cracking his head against the sink when he doubled over.

Adam stood suspended between Dean’s arm and his ass flush against Dean’s hips. His breathing leveling out and noticing for the first time the chill of the bathroom air.  
“ _ **Top marks for improvising with the hand soap**_.” Michael commented from his lean against the wall.

Adam huffed a laugh and caught Dean’s eye over his shoulder, “My ass thanks you for the hand soap.”

Dean’s eyes went sharp, “That so?”  
His big hand moved from Adam’s balls to replace Adam’s hand covering his dick. He laid a protesting hand on Dean’s wrist but didn’t tell him to stop. Enjoying the zing of pleasure as his cock head bumped along Dean’s knuckles.

Half a dozen passes later Adam tightened his grip on Dean’s wrist, too sensitive for Dean’s calloused hands to keep touching him. But when Dean’s motions didn’t stop Adam dug his fingernails into Dean’s wrist only succeeding in getting Dean’s teeth angrily sunk into his shoulder.

“Sensitive.” Adam objected, trying and failing to get the random intervals his muscles spasmed under control. 

Dean’s hum indicated he didn’t care.

When Adam started bucking, to try and fight his way out of Dean’s hold,  
Dean only released him once his dick has softened to the point of slipping free.

“The fuck was that?” Adam growled bracing himself against the sink to make sure his knees didn’t buckle.

“Make a decent cock warmer.” Dean said as he tugged his pants on.

“Selfish asshole.”

Dean bodily handled him until his arms were pinned to his side and Dean was shoving two fingers into Adam’s come sloppy hole. His muscles immediately clamping down on the intrusion as he moaned.  
“Greedy asshole.” Dean countered before releasing him with a sharp slap to his right ass cheek.

Several paper towels later Adam was tugging his pants back on. 

Dean was leaning against the wall where Michael had been, watching him with a smirk.

Shooting him a questioning look, Dean answered off-key, "Get your money for nothin', get your chicks for free."

With an eye roll, Adam made for the bathroom door, “Let me know when you karaoke a _good_ song.”

Dean grabbed his arm and pulled him back in, his fingers digging into the back of Adam’s neck as he dominated his mouth in that way that never failed to make Adam hot.

Lucifer’s voice echoed inside the bathroom, “ _We should have tried fucking him passive._ ” 

Michael answered, “ _ **As if you would have the patience to understand the difference between pain and pleasure nerve endings.**_ ” 

“ _Sure we could have thought of something._ ”

Above the music, a voice demanded, “-those cock suckers out of my bar!”

Dean pulled away from the kiss with a wet sound and grinned, “Showtime.”


	7. Chapter 7

It’s been a few months since Dean disappeared from the bunker.

This wasn’t the longest they’d been separated, but it felt more desperate than any other time.

The facts made Sam queasy with the possibilities.  
Dean was dead.  
Crowley had gone straight to Dean's body.  
Dean's body was missing.  
Crowley was missing.

From those facts alone Sam made the assumption Crowley had used some kind of necromancy spell. Tearing through research in the first few days, Sam hadn’t found a single reference to a necromancy spell activated without the proper moon cycle or one that worked without purifying the body in some manner.  
His assumption Crowley was pulling strings was cemented when the crossroads demons stopped showing up after the first few times he’d summoned them for information on Dean’s location. The demons had a routine when they answered Sam's call.  
They would flirt, Sam would threaten, they’d lie, Sam would start an exorcism, they’d share whatever rumor they’d picked up, Sam would still send them back to Hell. 

The truth he’d been able to pick up told him the demon cure apparently put Crowley out in a bad way but none of the demons knew any details. Only that Dean had become Crowley’s pet.  
The disdain in the phrasing made Sam think maybe they were upset because it was the other way around. 

After the demons started to prove they were less than useful- and Sam’s dislocated shoulder told him they were even growing tired of his questions- Sam turned to the hunting community.

Of the burnt remains of Bobby's house, they had made two piled; Useful and Maybe Useful.  
The black book of every hunting contact Bobby had ever made went into the Maybe Useful pile. Being known for 'starting the apocalypse' made them unsure if it would ever be useful to them.  
But with the dislocated shoulder keeping him out of the field, Sam took the list and started calling every number in the book. 

He found hunters were far more forgiving than Sam ever expected.  
He had a 20+ year veteran laugh when Sam asked him if their past was going to be an issue working with him. He’d got that reluctant chuckle all hardened men seemed to adopt as a laugh, “Kid, who ain’t done somethin’ they regret in this line of work. Hell, I blew Gary’s finger clean off a few years back and we had beers last week.”

So Sam started to rebuild Bobby’s hunting network. 

Very quickly the story became “Dean had been kidnapped because they found a way to close the gates of Hell. Because Dean started the ritual, he needed to be the one to finish it.”  
The questions were curtailed by Sam saying Dean was taken when they started looking into curing a demon. The knowledge safely locked away in the footlocker in Sam’s room embolden him to say he’d never heard of anything like it.

Bending the truth was more natural than fabricating an outright lie.  
Dean had been kidnapped because they hadn’t closed the gates of hell when they’d had the chance. Even after Crowley went docile, stopping Abbadon became more important than following through with the ritual.

As Dean started popping up on CCTVs all over the map Sam lead the story to become ‘Dean had been kidnapped and brainwashed’. The hunters slowly convinced themselves “the demons were controlling Dean instead of killing him because it was insurance Sam wouldn’t close the gates of hell".  
One of the few times their codependency worked in their favor. 

Sam was careful to make sure he referenced a different hunter who’d shared the idea with him so it didn’t sound like the story was changing by his hand. 

It was deceitful. The highest stake long-con Sam had ever participated in. But it was necessary.  
Even if Dean wasn’t his Dean, if the first blade had somehow twisted him beyond all recognition, if his Dean was lost to him-  
He would still get Dean back and they would disappear off the grid. Forever.

They had safehouses miles from anyone or anything. They could disappear and never be found.  
Desperation drove Sam to wish for that outcome. He would take anything, _anything_ if it meant getting Dean back.

\- - -

The first report of Dean’s description with black eyes made Sam put his fist through the motel wall.  
Crowley had allowed some lackey demon to inhabit Dean’s body so the pervert could get his rocks off. Of all the things Sam had been prepared for, Dean being used as a fuck toy was by far the worst.

Why use a necromancy spell when you could get a demon who took a fancy to acting? 

It explained why Sam hadn’t heard anything about entire towns being wiped off the map like they had first feared with the Mark of Cain.  
Dean had been unhinged in the months leading up to his showdown with Metatron. The lack of carnage along with Dean’s description was why Sam almost dismissed an email from one of the “retired” hunting contacts.

"Don’t know if this’ll blow up your shirt but the locals out here had a bar fight for the record books. Two dead. Bartender impaled on his own bartop, other guy done in with a serious knife.  
Suspect description sounds like it might be Dean.  
Partner was in his early twenties, possibly a teenager. Blue eyes, dark blonde.  
Police aren’t releasing because frankly it’s fucked up and they don’t want to raise alarm. Police have video but the cover I came in with wouldn’t allow me to get my hands on it.  
Sure I ain’t going to be the first to say it, but if this was Dean, you might be looking to put him down when you catch up to him.  
Let me know if I should keep digging or let this one to the local 5-0.  
\- David “ 

Sam wondered if Crowley had swapped vessels so they had less chance of Sam recognizing them.  
The thought had him shooting a message back to David that he was en route and tearing out of the parking lot not 5 minutes later.

He spent the first half the trip berating himself for not _thinking like Dean_ and the second half the trip being pissed he hadn’t put two and two together sooner.  
If the crossroad demons were, in their own way, worried about Crowley that meant he was doing something outside his norm. Palling around with Dean was outside the norm, sure, but if they were always doing what Dean wanted to do it made sense the demons were concerned.  
All Dean ever wanted to do was drink beer, sleep with hot women, watch old cowboy movies, and work on his car.

If there was a chance Dean was still in there, and all they’ve been doing for the past few months was one long scene from ‘Porky's’, Sam was going to kill him, with his own two hands, for putting him through so much fucking stress.

The months of habitually reading the news aloud, fully expecting a smart ass remark from Dean to answer him.  
The months of sick longing he’d feel when he thought he heard the phantom rumble of the Impala.

Oh, he was going to kick Dean’s ass himself. Put an iPod player in the Impala so Dean could get a taste for how sick Sam had felt all this time.

\- -

Sam shrugged his jacket off as he locked the motel room door behind him. 

If he were the local law enforcement, he wouldn’t have wanted the papers to release anything either. 

From the black and white video in the corner above the bar, _Adam_ emerged from a door -the bathroom he’d been informed- only for Dean to grab him and plant one on him.  
The eyewitness reports of "lewd conduct" didn't prepare Sam for the fury at seeing the familiar and casual way Dean kissed Adam.

The two men they’d been playing pool with earlier had made a gesture from the bartop and Dean walked up to him with a grin and sat beside him. They’d exchanged a few words. The bartender came over and things escalated from there.

Witnesses said the bartender kept telling them to take it outside -reading his lips he was saying a lot more than that- but Dean kept running his mouth and before they could be convinced to take it outside the pool table guy pulled a gun.

With jump-scare tactics, Dean took a false step forward and the already twitchy guy had pulled the trigger.

“From this point, it’s technically self-defense.” The sheriff told him.

Clearly hit, Dean stumbled and cussed before he pulled that accursed first blade from his jacket and ran the guy through.

The bartender then got a shotgun out and Adam - _Adam_ \- hit him so hard upside the head with a pool stick Sam knew the bartender was dead before he hit the floor.

Dean took the pool stick and impale the first guy through the open wound on his stomach and pinned him to the bartop.  
If the guy had been able to apply pressure and get to a hospital, he might have had not bled out. But being unable to… leave and get help, he’d died of exsanguination pinned with the pool stick.

“Excessive self-defense.” The sheriff had clarified. “Clearly the bullet missed, had to for the guy to get shot point blank and keep walking, but our forensic team hasn’t been able to find the bullet in the wall.” 

In the video, Dean wiped the blood from his weapon on the guy’s jacket and walked away. Adam looked up at the camera and tapped his wrist as if gesturing to the time before following Dean out.

The security footage gave Sam a lot to think about and the drive back to the motel was not nearly long enough.  
Sam stripped in the bathroom, setting his gun and Ruby’s knife on the bathroom counter. Knowing he would have to clean the gun of shower mist after, he felt better knowing it was within reach.

He should have showered before putting on the suit and flashing his Fed badge but grooming had taken a backseat to his hunt for Dean.  
The bare-bones warding of the room didn’t feel enough without Dean around to guard dog while Sam was so anxious and apprehensive. 

Sam didn’t wait for the water to get hot before getting in, an ingrained habit from sharing a room all these years.

And what did it mean that Adam was there?  
Was it some trick Crowley was trying to play or had their brother somehow been freed from the cage?  
Either way, it was clear Dean was the brains of the outfit.

Sam had given his card to the police chief, but he doubted there would be any further developments. The pair were more than likely long gone. Something like this would draw such prominent attention to them and they’d been so careful until now. 

Sam wondered if Dean was still driving the Impala. He could follow their route if he got access to the traffic cams.  
No, Dean was probably actively avoiding the freeways.

He was the one who always thought about the traffic cams. Often taking routes that got them so lost Sam had to pull out the map from the trunk and route them back to civilization. Or sometimes further lost just to see Dean’s excitement as he navigated the too narrow roads at unsafe speeds.  
If he’d missed just one turn they wouldn’t currently be separated like this, Sam thought morbidly. He dismissed the idea as quickly as it arrived.  
Dying in a car crash was too mundane for what they’d already lived through. 

He heard Dean’s laugh in his head, _Not if it were a fiery car crash_.

Sam grit his teeth, took a deep breath and found his resolve. If his airhead of a brother was stupid enough to get kidnapped by the king of hell, he would be stupid enough to slip up and allow Sam to find him.

He’d better be stupid enough to slip up, Sam sighed.

Sam stepped out of the shower and was towel drying his hair when he felt the familiar heat of a demon nearby. Not just nearby, in his room. Dropping the towel, Sam grabbed Ruby’s knife in one hand and the gun in the other. 

Adam was sitting cross-legged on Dean’s bed -double rooms was another ingrained habit- flipping through Sam’s notes.

He glanced up and gave Sam a once over, “Sam, you didn’t have to get all dressed up for me.”

The gun was level at Adam without thought.

Adam raised an eyebrow at him with a smirk, “You gonna shoot your own brother?”

“Not my brother.” Sam said simply.  
Whatever was possessing Adam’s body, Crowley, Michael, a demon, whatever, Sam wasn’t going down without a fight.

“That’s not what you were telling me last time. How me and my smart mouth would fit right in with your Brady Bunch.”  
Sam’s mouth soured at the memory. Adam had died as a cursed Winchester the first time. He didn’t deserve it then, and he sure as hell didn’t deserve to be angel-twisted into the thing standing before him now.  
Unaware of Sam’s thoughts, Adam fought his smile to turn into a pout, “I thought you wanted a little brother, Sammy?”

He fought back the knee-jerk reaction to not be called Sammy. Instead, he decided on, “Adam died when we fell into the pit.”

“ _Died_ kinda like you _died_?” Adam asked. Sam stayed silent. “Hmm, you got out, so all's well that ends well, huh?" Adam mocked, "Your soul might have stayed a little longer than your body, but I was there the entire time.” Adam started to get angry, his voice rising. “No soldier angel to come get my body from the box. No bargain to death to rescue my soul. No. I was there. Trapped with Michael and Lucifer as they picked through my every memory, every detail of my life, and twisted them.”

Sam swallowed back the bile in his throat. He remembered what it was like to have Lucifer inside him. In every possible sense of the word.

Adam continued, “Made me watch everyone I’ve ever loved be tortured over, and over, and over again. I know you remember Sam. I saw your nightmares too.”

The sudden flash of Adam’s girlfriend came to mind. The too perfect details of the tattoo on her shoulder, his hand fisted in her hair as they were driven to-  
“I remember.”  
He knew what Adam was talking about.

Adam looked away in disgust and took a deep breath. As if grounding himself before turning back to Sam with a smirk, “So I have to ask, is it a crime to come visit family?”

Sam stayed silent. Either Crowley had done his homework, or this really was Adam, and he was a hair's breadth away from being completely unhinged. 

Adam rolled his eyes and gave a groan of frustration, “Getting you to talk is like pulling teeth! No wonder I’m Dean’s new favorite.” Sam tightened his grip on the knife. “Sure, he talks about you. All the time. But I’m the one he wants warming his bed at, well, all hours of the night.” Adam gave him a cocksure grin, “And sometimes during to day too.”

Sam let the statement sink in.  
Relief flowing through him. If Adam was to be believed, Dean was alive.  
Twisted into some version of himself that played pool to the death and suddenly lost his inhibitions related to incest, but alive.  
And because unless Dean suddenly developed a deep seeded passion for day naps and cuddling, sex was the only context Adam would warm his bed. 

The intrusive thought of ‘who talked whom into what’ surfaced and Sam clenched his jaw to chase it away.  
They knew that devil’s mark was skewing Dean’s moral compass but to knock it so far off course he didn’t bat an eye at sleeping with his brother- no wonder he was up for running away with Crowley. 

Adam huffed a laugh, “You’re like a fucking rock. I just told you your brothers are fucking and I get no reaction?”

Spitting “not by choice” sounded childish in his mind, so Sam stayed silent and clamped down on his growing irate.  
He had to find Dean so he could get that fucking curse off Dean’s arm. Whatever Dean was out there doing, it wasn’t something Dean wanted. Sam knew Dean never wanted... that. He’d made that more than clear years ago.  
Adam’s sudden reappearance wouldn’t have changed his mind.

When it seemed Adam wasn’t going to do anything more than sit there and fume, Sam tugged on the pair of jeans sitting nearest the top of his duffle.

When he straightened, Adam was in his face, watching him with a wide grin, "You're jealous." 

At Sam’s silence, Adam laughed at him, "I thought that _whole thing_ was Lucifer fuckin with you! But you really do want a piece of that dick, don't you?" His whole demeanor changed as he blinked up at Sam from under his eyelashes, “Anyone ever tell you they’d be willing to go dutch with you and Dean?”

It was like watching the two sides of who Ruby was; the sweet girl she pretended to be when she had to be, and the cut-throat bitch she was most of the time.  
Hmm. But if Adam was feeling chatty, it could be used as a means to get information out of him.  
“A time or two.” 

“Not trying to make it a line.” Adam clarified with a shy smile, “I was thinking, if I can’t get the answer I want from one of you, I should be able to get it from the other one.”

“What answer?”

Adam gave him a once over, lingering on the thatch of hair trailing into his jeans, “I keep telling Dean we need to bring you in. I’m not his full blood brother and I wanna see if the rumor about brother’s dicks looking similar is true.” Sam frowned at his crassness, “But Dean wouldn’t have it. So I was hoping I'd be able to, _convince_ , you.”

Well, that might have answered the ‘who started what with whom’ question. Adam was offering to sleep with him. Hoping to convince Sam to join them without Dean's say so.  
Did the kid only think with his dick?  
“And if I don't need to be convinced?"

Adam squared up to him, “Think of it as a down payment for any information I give you.” His shoulders projecting his movement long before he moved.  
Sam was ready for his lunge, using Adam’s momentum to trade places with him in the room, unwilling to be backed into a corner.

When Adam straightened, Sam saw his eyes had flooded black. “I’ll make it fun for you Sam, I promise.” Adam purred before he started forward again.

It was only for Dean did Sam willfully suppress the curse of the yellow eyed demon for all these years. (The fear in Dean’s eyes, not to mention the way he tends to overreact every time Sam saves his life with it. The jerk.) Sam refused to be corralled by their younger brother. If this brat thought Sam would roll over because of their connection he was sorely mistaken.  
“ ** _Adam. Stop_** ”

The command stopped Adam in his tracks. Even with his expression muted by the black of his eyes, he still looked hungry. The singular focus a predator gives their prey moments before they’re devoured.

With the headache developing behind his eyes, Sam knew the command held Adam firmly in place. At least for the time being. He lowered the weapons and Adam’s chest heaved as he fought the invisible hold.

“Come on Sam.” Adam whined, “I just want to bite you until I taste blood.” He was panting, breathing hard as if he couldn’t get enough oxygen into his lungs.

Sam watched him for a long moment.  
If Adam really was -Sam disregarded the term “threat”- _unhinged_ he’d have to ward himself better to keep the upper hand.  
But if Adam found him so easily and was so eager to bring the two of them together…  
With the plan solidifying in his mind, Sam slowly set his weapons on the dinette table, and took a fist full of Adam’s hair.  
He slotted a thigh between Adam’s, earning a small sound of approval. 

"If I tell you yes, what happens?"

Adam's eyes lit up, "I don't grow content with it always being me and Dean. I'll keep coming back to give you updates. Let you know what he's doing so you can keep _accidentally_ bumping into each other on the street."

If Adam was determined to have Sam join them, he’d use that until Adam put him right in Dean’s path.  
Having sex with Adam was a small price to pay to get what he really wanted.

"Okay." Sam pulled him closer to disguise the way he adjusted for a better grip of Adam’s hair, “If we’re doing this, we’re doing it my way.”

Adam let out an impatient sound and humped against Sam’s thigh. Sam stared down at the hungry expression and waited him out. If Adam couldn’t control himself, this entire exercise would be pointless. It wouldn’t further his plan because it would demonstrate Adam was nothing more than a loose animal.  
Waiting, Sam’s gaze slid down to the angry looking hickies along Adam’s neck. If Adam’s story was true, then they were no doubt left by Dean’s own mouth.

Adam’s lips parted in a ragged breath and the black faded from his light colored eyes. “Do I look like I’m protesting?”

With an eye roll, Sam set his teeth against the largest of the hickies. Kneading the skin until Adam whimpered and tried to squirm out of his arms. He worked every inch of bruised skin until they were all shiny with saliva.

Stealing himself to be at this little terror's menstruations for the next, however long, Sam released Adam's hair with the command to "Strip" and fetched the lube from his bag. 

Sam kicked off his jeans and crawled onto the bed, trying not to blush at how exposed he was about to be. Adam too probably understood it was better to feel pain than nothing at all when it came to sex, but Sam didn’t want to take the chance he’d forego prep all together.  
He slicked a few of his fingers and relaxed his chest against the bed with his ass in the air. Palming his balls out of the way, he reached back and slid two slick fingers into his ass.  
It had been a while since he'd done this with another person, but he touched himself, and used the toy hidden in his bag often enough, it shouldn't take long for him to stretch himself open.  
The cap of the lube snapped came off as Adam messed with it. No doubt touching himself from the show Sam was putting on.  
Sam worked in a third finger and wiggled them further into his ass, trying to be as ready as he could get himself.

He jumped when Adam's fingers joined his. Thinner than Sam's own but the way he sawed them in and out alongside Sam's made his nerves come alive and arousal to race up his spine. Sam exhaled into the mattress under him and reminded himself to relax.

"Hot to see you this way, Sammy." Adam said as he grabbed a fist full of Sam's hair. The tip of Adam's dick pressed alongside Sam's fingers. 

Sam moved his fingers and wrapped his slick fingers around his dick, slowly teasing at the head as Adam smeared the lube around the rim with the tip of his dick.  
The voice in his head that always sounded like Dean chimed in, _is he old enough to know it's not a paintbrush?_.

The next moment Sam was scrambling to grab for the pillow and not moan loudly as Adam slammed the entire length of his dick in Sam's ass.

Adam pet a hand down Sam's back, "I can tell any sound from you is going to be hard won." He rocked his hips, dragging out and making Sam's nerves sing before pushing in hard, giving Sam no time to brace for it.

Sam let out a shaky breath and opened his legs wider, pulling at his dick as Adam found a rhythm. 

"Big brother has never seen you like this, huh?" 

Sam clenched his teeth, he didn't need to be thinking about Dean- like that. 

"I wonder what he'd say if he could see you now?"

Adam's lack of finesse prevented Sam from catching his breath, and his uncanny ability to press Sam's buttons made Sam's response sound much weaker than he would have liked. "Don't care."

The open hand smack to his ass had Sam grunt in surprise, "Don't have to lie to me, Sammy." Adam admonished, "Dean thinks about you like this. When I get him riled up, and he's been calling me little brother for most of the day, he has to stop himself from saying your name when he comes."  
Sam controlled his breathing and started pulling faster at his dick. A deal was deal, but the sooner he could get off and get it over with the better.

"If you can't pretend with me, who can you pretend with?" Adam teased.

Sam shook his head. He'd pretended enough when he was younger and still did sometimes with the dildo hidden in his duffle.

Tracing the pad of his finger against the stretch around his dick, Adam mused, "I have the weirdest memories of you from our time together." He slowed his rhythm until only the tip of his dick was keeping Sam's hole filled.  
He pressed a finger in alongside his dick, "Like how you're a size queen but don't get to take it very often. The downside of having a big dick I suppose."  
He pulled out until the tip of his dick kissed Sam's hole before filling him abruptly again. 

The repeated motion made Sam's nerves sing. The feeling of being empty before the sharp, hot drag of Adam's dick filling him back up. 

"He'd like the way he didn't have to tell you to loosen your hole."  
Sam didn't have the wherewithal, or the lung capacity, to tell him to shut up without it coming out in a moan, so he stayed silent.  
"You just did it. Laid out on the bed and started fingering yourself open. Old hat at having to do it quickly. Sharing close quarters your whole life, I wonder how many times Dean's almost walked in on you?"

Sam clenched his teeth against the memory of the time he was fucking himself with the dildo while Dean made a beer run. In the past, he'd listened for the rumble of the Impala to tell him Dean was back.  
It wasn't until the key was fitting into the lock did Sam realize Dean was back. He'd ducked into the bathroom just as Dean came through the door.  
The thrill of almost being caught and the sound of Dean moving around in the room next door had him clenching around the dildo still in his ass and stripping his cock to an orgasm that had made his knees almost buckle. 

Adam gave a thoughtful hum, "Imagine if he watched."

The next sharp thrust against his prostate had Sam moaning aloud. 

"There it is." Adam cooed.  
"You would love Dean to watch you touch yourself like the slut you are. But he wouldn't just watch, oh no, he'd give you little instructions. Stroke yourself faster. Play with the precome. Press your fingers against your hole. Hold yourself open for my dick." Each image punctuated with Adam's rhythm speeding up. 

Sam closed his eyes to ward off the idea of Dean lounging in one of the chairs behind them. Dean watching in approval as Sam moaned and arced against each thrust. Dean watching the way he takes Adam's cock and growing curious enough to see about putting his own dick in Sam's ass.

The warm body that laid across his back only added to the illusion. Sudden pain of teeth sinking into the meat of his shoulder stole his breath but it was the wet lick of a tongue soothing the bite that had Sam orgasm rushing up to white out his mind.  
His orgasm making him clench around Adam's still thrusting dick, dragging out the pleasure sparks of his release. 

Adam exhaled a shaky breath across the back of Sam's neck and slammed into him, the slick feeling of his orgasm sent unpleasant shivers up Sam's spine. He'd forgot to insist on a condom.

Uncaring of the pullout, Adam rolled off him. Disappearing into the bathroom.

Sam rolled onto his back and took a deep sigh to recentered himself. He hadn't entertained the fantasy of sex with Dean for a while. It was like folding a porcupine to get the longing back into the proper corner of his mind.

They'd had sex. Now Adam owed him information. He sat up on his elbows and called out, "Why is Dean avoiding me?"

Adam came out of the bathroom with Sam's -obviously wet- towel cleaning his dick, “Ruin a good thing by talking-” he muttered, “because he's doing everything he couldn’t do before.”

“Before when?” Sam demanded.

“Before now. When he was with you.”

That stabbing pain in his heart was back and Sam took a shaky breath. He had grown accustomed to Dean's cutting comments since he acquired the mark, it didn't make it any easier to hear.

“Where is Dean going next?” 

Tossing him the towel, Adam gave him a lazy smile and shrugged, “Well if you use the same trick on him that you used on me, he’ll be going nowhere.”

Sam dismissed it as soon as he understood what Adam was referring to. He started wiping himself down and stood carefully, he needed another shower.  
If he sincerely wanted to get Dean back, he couldn't use his yellow-eye gifted powers on him. Which was fine, there were other ways to save him. Outright telling Dean his mojo never left wasn’t something Sam was willing to risk. No matter how easy it would make the task.

They had demon cuffs and the cure. There were other ways to save him.  
And if he kept telling himself that he might start to believe it.

“Dean was right; Your modesty does kick in at the weirdest times.” 

Realizing he was holding the towel in front of himself, Sam dropped it and glared.

The phone in Adam’s hand gave a shutter sound as he snapped a picture. He was grinning as he poked at the screen a few times, "How thoughtful of you to send me screensaver material, Sammy."

Sam glared at him, “You got your answer now your job is to bring Dean to me.”

“No promises on a deadline but I’ll do what I can.” Adam waved him off before a grin split his face, “But with a lay like that I know I’ll be back soon.”  
He blew Sam a kiss and disappeared with the smell of sulfur. 

Sam booted up his laptop and moved to put some clothes on. Adam had given him a lot to think about.

Namely, if Dean had been warped into a demon, did that mean he could be summoned?


	8. Chapter 8

“Ugh!” Adam groaned from the couch, “why is this taking so fucking _long_!”

Dean poured himself a couple fingers of whiskey and regarded Adam. 

They’d made Crowley’s mansion a sort of base operation. The office had a modest selection of various spirits that never seemed to empty. Dean figured a housekeeper was lurking somewhere.

Crowley’s host had the biggest house Dean had ever been in without using lockpicks. The house was a luxury Crowley afforded only by playing both sides of the fence. While Crowley’s title had been the king of the crossroads demons, he’d made an effort to kept up appearances with his host who owned a publishing company.  
The same company that published the Supernatural books. It was infuriating to know that bastard had been tailing them long before they ever met.

Since Crowley was on ice, Dean had made himself at home. That meant drinking all of his alcohol and using the warded house as his stronghold while the boy king loyalists looking into how the fuck Sam had almost managed to summon him.  
_Him_.  
As if he was some ordinary evil that could be contained with a simple devil’s trap! (A theory he wasn’t looking forward to testing.)

Adam’s incessant questions and suggestion of "Maybe they need us out there?" was getting on Dean’s last nerve.  
He’d made it perfectly clear, numerous times, he didn’t want anything to do with Sam. There was nothing Sam could do to save him so why give him the hope? Even getting Sam close enough to prove it put him on edge. If given a chance, Sam could talk a baby out of candy.

But Adam bitching about "The demons must have done something wrong because they hadn’t given us an update for three hours" was hitting far too close to home.

“You wanna keep complaining we’re gonna find a better use for that mouth.”

Adam rolled his eyes and sneered, “Porn much?”

“ _You’re confusing porn with reality._ ”

If Dean wanted him to shut up, the best way he knew how was to make him. 

There was no place for Sam in Dean’s new outlook on life except for under him. And he would prove it.  
Grabbing him by the back of the neck, he maneuvered him to lay across Dean’s lap, his ass over Dean’s thighs.  
If this punk thought he could demand Dean do what he wanted, he was sorely mistaken. Whatever partnership they once _had_ was null and void when Dean acquired black eyes and a taste for violence that was more hands-on.

The lithe body squirmed in Dean’s hold, but he wasn’t getting free until Dean was done with him. Dean strong-armed the unbuttoned jeans past the dick pressing urgently into his thigh, earning a bit-off curse and a weak attempt at an escape. 

Once that pert ass was exposed Dean wasted no time in digging his fingers into the pale skin before delivering a firm smack. 

He mewed and rubbed against Dean’s thigh, his already leaking dick digging into Dean’s thigh. Dean smacked the other cheek, humming in pleasure as he watched the impact spread across the pale skin.

"Have you always been this much of a whore for it?" Dean asked smacking two consecutive hits to the reddening flesh.

“Since hell.” Came the muffled response came from the couch.

“Really?” Dean mused as he alternated between checks to deliver five swats to each. But the third swat, there was intent behind the dick grinding into Dean's thigh to counter the pain. Dean settled a hand on the impact-warmed skin and kneaded.

“God Damn."

“Ready to give that mouth something to do?”  
The answer was muffled by the cushion. Dean gave his ass another hard smack, “What was that?”

“Said make me!” he growled.

Dean smacked his ass another handful of times until the attempt to get away became more frantic. Dean held him down until every last inch of his pale ass was a deep shade of red.

The terror had started an almost frantic rhythm of rubbing against Dean’s leg, careless of the blows to his ass.  
Unable to keep himself in check any longer, Dean forced him to kneel and held his face against Dean's cock, enjoying the friction through his clothes. 

His mouth pressed against Dean's dick through the fabric and he exhaled warm.  
“Take ‘em off.” Dean demanded, opening his legs to give him better access. Dean gave a hum of satisfaction when the pressure of the fly gave way. The elastic of his briefs was eased away next. 

Free of his confining boxers Dean took his dick in hand and watched through hooded lids as his pink lips wrapped around his cockhead. 

“That’s my boy.” Dean praised when the tongue pulsed against the underside of his dick. “Want you to taste me in the back of your throat.”  
Dean moaned, using the hair handhold to guide that warm mouth down his dick. His cockhead pushing to the back of his throat. “Gonna fuck your mouth until you choke on it.”

“Don’t know what you thought summoning me was going to get you.” Dean said, forcing him to take Dean’s cock to the root.

The sudden bite of fingernails digging into his thighs had Dean hissing and dragging him up by his hair. 

“I summoned you, huh?”  
That ever-present manic smirk was on Adam’s face. 

The disappointment to not be looking at Sam’s face in that moment left him speechless. It was the first time Dean had given in entirely to the fantasy that Sammy was under him.  
The only point of reference Dean had for Sam's arousal was that summer they found those pornos hidden under the floorboards. A week spent subtly watching each other jerk off in the same room when Sam was 16. He hadn't grown into his height and his shoulders hadn't yet broadened to be the billboard size he was today.  
Adam was of the same size and build.

The embarrassment at being called out was non-existent compared to the longing he felt at that moment. What _would_ Sammy’s lips feel like wrapped around his dick? Was he as good at this as Adam was or would Dean have to help train him to cover his teeth?

The thought of training Sammy to take his dick made his balls throb.

Adam’s fingers soothed up his thighs, “Your brother,” he wrapped a hand around Dean’s cock and stroked, “only wanted to summon you because he knows I get to do this and he was jealous.” Adam swallowed him down again.

Dean dropped his head back and rode out the feeling. So what if Adam knew. Fucking him because Sammy wasn’t around was second nature at this point.  
The thought of Sammy under him, of the push and pull they’d engaged in as they did in all things, would be a welcome challenge. 

Adam continued narrating as he alternated using his hand and mouth, “His big hands all over you. The sounds he’d make when he took you in his mouth. How he’d beg for you to touch that pornstar dick of his as you bent him over a table.”  
Dean thrust up into Adam’s grip at the thought. 

Adam bobbed to the root and pulling off with a wet suck, “You’d have to put him in his place. Sammy would make you go slow." Adam jacked him faster with his hand, "He’d want to enjoy the way you’d fill him. The way he’d beg with those puppy dog eyes. Beg you to touch him.... Beg you to stop.” 

Dean tightened his grip in Adam’s hair and came with a groan. 

Adam lazily sucked at his cock, drawing every last drop, “You know our Sammy, all you have to do is ask him and he’ll make the right decision.”

Dean mulled it over as Adam mouthed at his dick, clearly aiming for round two.  
It was a strange thought that Sam might not know about Dean’s… desires. He’d always prided himself on his grifter abilities but when it came to Sam, all that went out the window. Hard to lie to someone who knows you better than you know yourself most days.

If Sam hadn’t figured it out in their years together, Dean was going to get “fake it til you make it” on a bumper sticker.

 

\- SAM - 

Heat rippled through the room and a gun was in Adam’s face before Sam could comprehend it was him.

“Told you I’d be back.” His wide grin was unsettling. 

Sam clicked on the safety and tucked his gun into his lower back, "Summoning him didn’t work.” 

Adam scoffed and shrugged his hands into his pockets, “I could have told you that. He could give a shit less if the world burns but he is a paranoid fucker.” At Sam’s silence, Adam continued, “But I thought you might be in the mood for an update.”

“Don’t need an update,” Sam fished the demon handcuffs from his jacket pocket and gestured to the variety of tools laid out on the bed, “just need to get close to Dean.”

“Glad we’re on the same page about that.”  
As Sam turned to ask him what that meant, Adam was on him.  
Wrapping his legs around Sam’s waist and locking his arms around Sam’s neck in a headlock.

“Change of plans!” Adam announced.

Sam grabbed Adam’s arm and slammed him into the wall. The entire force of his weight made Adam let out a little ‘oof’ but did nothing to loosen his hold. He dug his fingers to the crook of Adam’s arm until he heard something pop, but even then Adam’s held on.  
Air was getting harder to come by and his struggling wasn’t helping matters.

“Just give in.” Adam cooed next to his ear. “The next time you wake up Dean will be there.”

Sam make a weak grasp for his duffle. He couldn’t get this close only for his plan to fall apart like this. He needed to make sure everything needed to subdue Dean was on hand. 

Adam’s voice, resigned, was the last thing Sam heard before everything went dark, “Your stupid toys are coming with. But we have to make sure you look nice first.” 

\- -

His side was warm and his head was fuzzy.  
Trying to shift to get relief, Sam found that he couldn’t move. Waking up on his stomach, hogtied and gagged was never a good sign.

“Have a surprise for you, Sammy.”

Sam jerked at how close Adam’s voice was.  
He was propped up on an elbow watching Sam’s face. He’d weaved a leg between the ropes and Sam’s legs, he could feel Adam's half-hard dick through his jeans. Sam was missing his shoes and his flannel, and probably everything else he had on his for protection. 

The room around them was huge and lavish. A sitting area in the far corner, and large floor to ceiling curtains that no doubt covered the floor to ceiling windows. 

Adam was alternating between petting a hand down Sam’s arm where it was tied to his ankle, and working his hand under Sam’s shirt to pet down his back. The ache in his shoulders spoke volumes about how long Adam had been using him as lounge furniture. 

He growled Adam’s name around the wad of clothing in his mouth.

Adam untangled his leg from Sam and eased him onto his side, “I think you would have been fun to keep.” He smoothed a hand across Sam’s chest and down to his jeans, his fingers touching skin where his shirt had been worked up. “Between me and you, if Dean hadn’t been so determined to fix me, I would be giving you three options like he gave me. You stay mine, to do and play with as I see fit. Or I beat your brains in and no one ever had to worry about getting fucked over by the Winchester brothers ever again.”  
Adam smiled down at him and tapped his nose, “Instead, we’re going with the option that puts you two together and gets you _both_ the fuck away from me.”

Sam pulled against the ropes and said Adam’s name again. If he was going to be near Dean, he wasn't going to be bound like this. Dean had walked away once, Sam wasn’t going to be forced to lie passively as Dean did it a second time. 

Adam’s head was turned, as if he were listening to someone before giving a laugh and grabbing Sam’s chin, “Lucifer says the gag is to remind you, you have two ears and one mouth because you’re supposed to listen twice as much as you talk.” 

W-What? Sam felt panic start to swell in his chest. He gave a desperate tug at the ropes as his mind started flying; was Adam getting freed from the cage a two-step process to releasing the angels?

Unaware of Sam’s rising panic, Adam shook his head with a smile, "It took me a while to figure it out, but I know they’re not _really_ here. I’m just seeing them everywhere.” Adam put his hand against Sam’s stomach and trailed his fingers up Sam’s chest, whispering, “Only time I don’t see them is when Dean’s got his hands on me.”  
His fingernail scratched over Sam’s nipple before he rolled the nub between his fingers, “Big brother says it’s something to do with the pain being different in the cage. That it feels different.” Adam pinching and twisting his nipple, causing Sam to bit down on the gag and fight back the groan. “I mean, it feels different sure, but it’s still pain. I remember it happening. I remember being in agony. But the bitch of the thing is, anytime I don’t feel pain Michael is right there telling me it's time to come home 'cause it's past curfew."  
Adam released him and pet a pseudo soothing hand across Sam’s chest and stomach. 

It heals, Sam begged behind the gag. They’re memories that will fade the further you get from the cage. The longer you stay out. The longer you don’t give in to them the better it'll get.

Adam was watching his hand trace patterns across Sam’s stomach and hips. “Big brother doesn’t understand they carved out a part of me so they could fit inside. They tore me apart until I became whatever else is made in hell.”  
Adam watched him for a long minute. The look in his eyes volleying between manic and ancient wisdom. It reminded him of what Adam looked like when they first got to the cage. The waring state of Adam and Michael talking. Of Michael having a vessel that fit like a too-tight suit.  
That look that told Sam he wasn’t going to like what Adam did next.

Adam rolled off the bed, “Are you ready for my solution, Sammy?” He shrugged on Sam’s flannel, the material too wide for his slight frame. “You guys are going to end up together anyway, so I’m going to give you Dean. You get him back on the _path of righteousness_ , or whatever you guys think you’re doing and bam. Happy ever after.”   
Adam opened the door, and Sam was overwhelmed with the number of demons so close. The entire house had to be filled. He couldn't tell how many but he knew for sure there _dozens_  
“Sure, the details are fuzzy, but if having him on a leash makes you happy, then I’ll happy.” Adam gave him a finger waggle, flipped the light into darkness, and disappeared through the door.

When the door clicked closed the demonic presence disappeared, Sam’s chest was tight and his stomach queasy.

He already didn’t like Adam “solution”.


	9. Chapter 9

If he hadn’t already killed three messengers today, he would have run this one through.  
Come to think of it, the day was young and four really wasn't a number to write home about.

Killing the king of hell technically made him the king of hell, but he didn’t want the job. The demons pedestalling around him were only loyal because they wanted Sammy to be their king. So without Dean’s say-so, and without ever accepting the title, Dean was running hell.  
Who knew there was so much shit Crowley put up with regularly. No wonder he was always humping his and Sam’s leg. Anything to break up this snoozefest.

Dean’s answer to almost everything was to either put the questioner in charge of something or kill them. It kept everybody on their toes. 

With each task he delegated, he was further weaving the jobs these demons did on top of each other. Making sure to put one in charge of something but ask another in similar ranks to check their work. And surprise of all surprises, they stopped asking him questions. 

If hell could become self-sufficient it would make killing anyone that stepped out of line that much easier. Eventually, it would prevent the demons from slipping through the cracks and wandering around topside.  
Dean didn’t actually care that demons were running around -there was always going to be random, unpredictable violence in the world, what was one more demon? -he just liked ordering them around and fucking with them in ways it took them a while to fully realize.  
How many years would it take until one of them picked their head up and asked why they were doing what they were doing?

“It’s a matter of maintaining soul count.” The demon finished.

Dean sighed into his whiskey-spiked coffee. Why couldn’t Crowley’s host -he really should learn his name- have been one of those tiny house guys? Instead, the guy’s kitchen could literally hold court, whether Dean wanted it to or not.  
He’s stopped listening a few minutes ago and weighed killing the demon versus walking away. Killing him meant he'd have to set his coffee down or risk spilling it. Setting it down hardly seemed worth it considering he'd poured the last of the whiskey to make the coffee the perfect temperature. 

“Can he confer with his brother?” Adam asked from his perch on the island counter.

Dean’s lip twisted up as the demons erupted into squabbling with each other. Because none of them knew Adam was even in the cage, let alone a Winchester, so they hadn’t fully accepted the news of ‘another brother’ yet.

Leaving them to their feud, Dean started walking away. They were going to be pecking at each other for a few hours, freeing him up to do whatever he pleased.

Adam pushed past him, he was practically drowning in the shirt he was wearing, and started leading the way down the hall, “Stop dragging your feet and come on.”

“You’re lucky you’re a good lay or I’d have killed you by now.”

“Fuckin’ liar.” Adam replied easily, “s’cause I keep getting you gifts like this one.”

“Which is what again?”

“It’s that pony you’ve been askin’ round about.”

“You’ve got to get a better sense of humor. And your own damn clothes, stop stealing my shit out of the trunk.”

“You’re pissed because you know it looks better on me.” Adam stopped at a bedroom door covered in various sigils drawn in blood. 

Dean gave a low whistle as he looked over the marks. “Did you really need to use the entire herd of sheep?” 

Adam bit his thumb to draw blood and rub it over the ward covered door. “Not the _whole_ heard. Just all the baby lambs." He drawled, "But you’ll appreciate it once you know what I got you.”

Keeping it a secret until Dean saw with his own eyes- Adam was a sneaky little brat when he put effort into it.

The room was dark, the shades were drawn, and the light from the hallway didn’t illuminate the room due to its sheer size. 

“I’m back,” Adam singsonged into the room, “And I brought you that surprise.” The angry muffled answer had Dean kicking the door closed behind him. He couldn't tell if his mind was playing tricks on him, or if he'd heard what he thought he did.  
“Stop that, it’s not like you didn’t ask me for this.” Adam soothed.  
That familiar huff of disagreement was ingrained in Dean’s bones. He swore to god if that little punk dragged Sammy into this hornet’s nest he was going to bath in Adam’s arterial spray.  
He hit the light to illuminate the space. It was a modest bedroom as far as décor at this place went, but none of that registered as Dean focused on Sammy. He was on his stomach, his arms pulled behind him and his wrists tied to his ankles.  
When their eyes met, he gave a cry and jerked at the ropes, trying and failing to get free.

“Ta-da.” Adam said as he perched on the bed near Sam’s hip.

Having the unpredictable whirlwind of a monster so close to Sammy, especially when he wasn’t in a position to defend himself-  
Dean grit his teeth and fought the protective instinct down. None of that mattered because Sammy wasn’t his responsibility anymore. 

Sam was a burden, a stone weighing him down and holding him back. There was no place for him here.

“Get him out of here.” Dean said as he started for the door. 

Sam’s loud pleas were muffled by the gag, the desperation of it sent a thrill down Dean’s spine. It wasn’t until Adam spoke did Dean stop.  
“Wanted to give you the first right of refusal because there wouldn’t be a second for the boy king.”

Dean balled his fists. That little shit was right. The demons were giving Sam wide breadth because there was an unspoken understanding that Sam belonged to him.  
When it eventually got out that Dean walked away, Sam would be up for grabs.

“Oh Dean,” Adam grinned, “You can’t avoid him forever. Eventually, the demons that follow you only for him will start to take matters into their own hands. It crossed my mind that it would be fun to keep him for myself. Play with him whenever I like however I liked.” Sam gave a cry of pain and Dean caught himself before he turned and looked.  
“Then I started thinking about all the demons you’ve been killing and wondered how much they might like a turn with Sammy.”

The notion had Dean turning his head to make sure Sam was still there, still in the room, still whole.  
Adam had put Sam on his back, his chest arched as he tried to not rest his entire weight on his tied arms. His entire focus was on Dean. 

Dean liked this version of Sam.  
It was weird what dying could do to the memory. Sure, he _knew_ that Sam was in his 30s, but for some reason, the mental image at the forefront of his mind was of the last time Sammy was almost his. Before Sammy had grown into his height or his shoulders. Before he’d grown into a man that argued and thought for himself. Before he grew into Dean’s equal in every way.

Without meaning to move, Dean found himself at the side of the bed trailing a hand over the bend of Sam’s knee.

Sam was talking behind the gag. Dean knew if he listened he'd be able to understand the muffled demands. There wasn’t anything Sam could say that would change his mind. But it was Sam.  
Sam always had this command over him, and Dean had never been able to tell him no. Which meant if Sam was allowed to talk there was a chance he'd convince Dean out of the distance he'd created between them. 

“I could show you the place you'd fit in around here," Dean told him as he gave the muscle of Sam’s thigh a light squeeze. 

The look he gave Dean told him there was no misunderstanding of what he was referring, but the fear Dean expected was absent. He leaned in close, just before Sam had to look at him crosseyed, and whispered, "I could prove to you I'm still your brother and that I love you very much.”

The hesitation in Sam's refusal was aggravating. That Sam was so determined to be at Dean's side, he would give himself freely to let Dean do whatever he wanted. That Sam would willingly acknowledge the elephant in the room that had been following them for years with so little coaxing. 

Dean watched him for a long minute. He could do whatever he wanted and there would be nothing Sam could do to stop him. He could feel how tight Sam was as Dean used his dick to stretch him. Would watch as Sam begged him to stop with tears in his eyes.

Sam didn’t look away as he shook his head. Acceptance in his gargled answer ‘But not like this.’

Dean scoffed and let go of his thigh, “Killjoy." He paced the side of the bed a bit, watching Sam try and work the ropes free from his ankles with his fingers. Adam had tied them too tightly for Sam to get any real purchase, and the stupid way Adam had knotted over and over the rope meant even if Sam worked it loose, he would be at it a long while before it came loose enough for him to get free.

"Know what I don’t get? Why you’re so determined to bring me back.” Those puppy dog eyes were in full effect, “We do nothing but fight. I lie, you get pissed. You hide things, I get pissed. These past few months I've learned everything is so much simpler when someone isn’t looking over your shoulder and judging your every move.” Dean threw his arms out, gesturing to everything he’d been doing. “I’m enjoying my freedom. No guilt for the things I’ve done. No remorse for not saving everyone I can.” Dean considered Sam still struggling against the ropes as his chest heaved from how worked up he was getting. “For the first time, I don’t regret not fucking you.”

Sam’s eyes went wide, and Adam gave a clap of delight with a soft, “Whoomp, there it is.”

Sam was arguing behind his gag, a continuous mumble of nonsensical sounds.  
Dean clapped a hand around Sam’s throat and squeezed, silencing him. He leaned over him and whispered, “You need to know why you’re going to walk away and never come back.” The deeper he dug through the past hurt, the more it came out as cold fury, “I _wasted_ my life chasing you. You were mine. Before any of- this. Before heaven or hell. Before Lucifer. You. Were. Mine. But you walked away. And not just the one time, every time.” He let go, and Sam took several heaving breaths and started to protest again.

"Sam still has that gift in his blood." Dean sharply looked up at Adam. He had a knife in his hand, petting a finger along the backside of the blade. "Luci insists it didn't matter what Sam did to protect himself it would always be there." Adam paused for effect like the drama queen he was, "We could always wake it up?"

Sam gave a cry of protest and managed to work himself onto his stomach, trying to get away from Adam. 

Dean leaned in and grabbed a handful of Sam's hair, forcing him to face Dean as he crouched so they were eye level. "If I let you gorge yourself on demon blood then I'd never be rid of you." Dean hummed to himself, honesty was steadily becoming his favorite pain-in-the-ass tactic. "Always to find the silver lining, I was thrilled when I found out about the demon blood. Thought it could mean I'd be able to touch you and not get you dirty. Turns out even though you had this evil, this- _disease_ inside you; you still weren’t as tainted as me. You chose to sleep with a demon whore but somehow _I_ wasn’t good enough. I stopped trying after that. Decided I was going to have to be content with you always at arm's length. Content with jerking off to the thought of you or-” he gestured to Adam, “-fucking someone who reminded me of you in the right light. I mean, I had to be content with it. I’d had a lifetime of proof that I would never be good enough for you Sammy, so I’m done trying.”

There was a fire in Sam’s eyes. He was pissed about something but Dean didn’t care to hear what it was. Sam was always convinced they would work anything out through talking. Dean fancied himself more of an action guy.  
There was nothing for him here so he would have to take care of himself or he would die trying. Either way, he wasn’t Dean’s problem anymore.

“Why didn’t you call me?” Adam said in his best attempt at a high pitch voice. At some point he had relocated himself between the bed and the door, his pacing a wide arc from wall to wall. “We spend a beautiful night together, and I haven’t heard from you since.”

Dean rounded on him, “I'll deal with you in a minute you menace."

“Sorry for what?” Adam continued in that high voice, “For breaking my heart, or for giving me the greatest pleasure I’ve ever know and just taking it away?”  
Dean grit his teeth and started towards him, intent on shutting him up. Adam turned those big eyes on Dean and continued, “Well forget it, I’ve spent too many nights crying over you.”

When Adam was within strangling distance, a handcuff slapped over his outstretched wrist, followed by the heel of Adam’s hand into Dean’s nose. The crunch of his nose breaking was loud in his head and disoriented him long enough for Adam to cuff the arm that came up to blindly block the next attack.  
A kick to his chest knocked the wind out of him and made him stumble back a few steps. 

Oh, he was going to fucking _kill_ him. 

Adam's hand was covered in blood from Dean's broken nose, but he seemed it not enough and cut across his palm with the knife. “I made it to third base during that scene,” Adam informed them as he flipped the edge of the rug up and wiped his bloody hand across the underside, “tried to watch the movie after and didn’t make it past the studying montage. That chick literally had to do _one_ keg stand and she could have married any rich douche she kicked on her way down.”   
Dean started towards him and was abruptly stopped three steps from where Adam was grinning at him. “Bam. Relationship problem solved.”

“What did you do?” Dean growled.

“Lesson I learned from being bosom buddies with Lucifer,” Adam used the corner of the flannel he was wearing to clean the knife as he leisurely walked towards Sam, “Actions don’t always speak louder than words.”

Dean clenched his teeth. If Adam gave Sam his blood, Dean was going to carve into Adam until all the lampshades in this fucking house were made of his skin.

Instead, Adam greeted him with a slap on the ass and cut through the stretch of rope that bound Sam's feet to his hands. Making sure Sam's wrists were still tied together, and his feet were still tied together at the ankle.  
He grabbed Sam’s arm, and with an unnecessary grunt, he threw Sam over his shoulder. 

Adam stopped on the edge of the rug Dean was apparently trapped inside, and dumped Sam on the ground. “You said your peace, now it’s Sam’s turn. It’s cathartic this way, yeah?” 

Sam scrambled to his knees, Adam ripping the gag out of his mouth once he was upright. 

“You are a fucking hypocrite!” Sam spat glaring up at him from his knees.

“Cathartic!” Adam cheered.

“Shut up.” Sam snapped, without looking away from Dean, “I wouldn’t keep coming back if I didn’t feel the same way! You're the one that told me “no” all those years ago! You’re the one that made me feel like I wasn’t good enough for your attention, nevermind your affection.”

Dean frowned, “I never told you no!”

Sam’s lip lifted in a snarl before he spat, “Why do you think I left for school?!”

“Because that’s what you do! You run away!”

“Only after you told me _no because our family is fucked up enough as it is_!”

That brought Dean up short. He'd never said that. Sam was always the one telling Dean shit like that. Anything they had ever done was fine by Dean. 'Family' meant whatever he needed it to mean because it defined everything he'd ever felt for Sammy. 'Family' was all Dean had ever known.  
"Didn't think you'd be one to lie to get what you want Sammy."

“No, I remember that one.” Adam nodded at Sam, “It put an end to you guys jerking off in that cabin together."  
Dean remembered that cabin. He remembered walking in on Sam that first time and Sam's beat red face as he asked Dean if he had any tips. 

Adam continued, "It sucked because Sam had put a lot of work into setting it up nice. He made sure you noticed the floorboards the skin mags were under so when he let you walk in on him spanking it a few days later, you'd tell him it's okay, and the whole thing would seem like your idea instead of Sammy asking for it."  
Sam had forced an expressionless look, but his cheeks were colored red in embarrassment. “That's where that kinky issue about “climbing family trees” came from!" Adam said in realization and smacked a hand against Sam's shoulder in camaraderie, " _Deeper than blood_. Had that picture where the one was leaning over his brother's shoulder and looking straight at the camera with his hand covering his brother's dick. Real possessive like."

“Like you would know." Dean spat.

“Millenia." Adam gestured at Sam, "Together. I’ve seen everything that could be used to break him.” he nodded sagely, "Clowns are fucked up liars.”

Dean glared down at Sam. Silently demanding an explanation. 

Sam’s embarrassment had deflated, in its place was that steeled determination. “We're not having this conversation right now. You're half out of your head on some power high." Sam paused and shook his head, “You're not the Dean I know. You’re some twisted version of you due to that gawdawful crusade you picked up when you were palling around with Crowley. Abbadon-” he gave a huff of frustration, “We put her away once, we could have done it again.”

Understanding washed over Dean, “You’re going to try and cure me.”

Sam’s jaw ticked and he grit his teeth, “There will be no _try_ about it.”

Dean pressed against the invisible wall of the devil’s trap and glared down at him, “If you think this is something that can be overwritten by your misplaced resolve there is a kitchen full of demons that would be willing to bring you to my side. The cure will take hours where _you_ need a little blood on blood contact!”

“Well,” Adam drawled, “I sealed the room. Nothing gets in or out without my say so. Or my blood.” To Sam he said, “You’re gonna do what now?”

Dean felt the unbridled anger rising in him, he threw himself against the invisible barrier and roared, "Let me out!”

“Sealed room means sound too.” Adam flashed him that forced innocence look, “Gave me just enough rope to hang your from.” Adam turned expectantly back to Sam.

Sam pulled at the ropes behind him, “The bag I was packing, everything I need to cure Dean of being a demon was in there. I need it.” 

Adam shot to his feet, “Now there is a plan.” From under the bed, he pulled their green duffle and returned to drop it at Sam's hip with a clatter.  
Sam looked up at him expectantly, "Ropes?"

"Oh yeah!" Adam ducked to take his knife to the ropes on Sam’s wrists and ankles. “Can I watch?”

Sam rubbed at his wrists and started unpacking the bag between himself and Adam.

Holy water. Rosary. Pack of needles. A pack of crackers. Fucker was “scout prepared” as usual.  
The rosary was wrapped around Sam’s wrist and he dropped his head, silently mouthing words that would purify his blood.

Dean started in on Adam. “And what do you get out of this?”

Adam gave a shrug, “King Sized Reese's Cups. Sam promised them to me weeks ago.”

A week ago? “Sam did what?”

Adam fished his phone out of his pocket and held it up for Dean to see. It was Sam naked in a hotel room, standing next to a bed with a towel pooled at his feet, and that familiar disappointed frown in place. Adam took his phone back, “Other than the crying he’s an excellent lay.”

Sam was tying off his arm with one hand, and grabbed a syringe with the other, the elastic between his teeth. “Kid made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.”

“And that makes you a moron.” Dean growled at Sam, “You can’t honestly think things will go back to normal once you’re satisfied you’ve fixed me.” 

Sam filled the syringe and took his time getting to his feet. Dean silently watched him stand, ready to take a bite out of his arm when it got close. 

The holy water across his chest made him recoil as the liquid soaked his clothes and settled against his skin with pain akin to touching a live wire.

The prick of the needle into his neck was nothing by comparison. 

“We’ll talk about it when you’re back to being you.” 

 

After two bottles of holy water, the entire bag of crackers, 8 injections of Sam’s purified blood, and 9 hours, Dean blinked the black from his eyes and the holy water didn’t feel anything more than room temperature water.

He blinked up at Sam, his head pounding with what felt like the worst hangover he’d ever experienced. “Come here often?”

He basked in the huff of laughter Sam let out.  
Sam picked the lock on the cuffs and helped him fully stand. “You good?” 

Dean nodded, “Yeah.” 

He made sure Dean wouldn’t pitch over when he let go and turned to start throwing everything into the duffle, “If there are demons in the kitchen we have to sneak out of here.”

“This is not the longest we’ve ever been locked in a bedroom before.” Adam offered. “They wouldn't come looking. You’ve got time.”

Adam stepped between them and Dean fought through the guilt to maintain eye contact with their younger brother.  
What could he possibly say knowing full well what he'd put him through?

Adam leaned in and pressed his lips against Dean’s in a chast kiss, pulling back with a grin,  
“It’s been nice knowing you Dean.”

Before Dean could ask him what he meant, Adam reared back and slugged him across the jaw. He was out cold before he hit the floor.


	10. Chapter 10

Dean came awake with the painful throb of his jaw pressing into the pillow. It felt like he'd been kicked by a horse. 

“Welcome back.” 

Dean jumped, not expecting Sam to be sitting in a chair beside the bed. He looked like he hadn’t slept. Dark circles were prominent even in the low light. The reclined way he sat in the chair spoke of exhaustion, but here he was, not sleeping.  
Dean gave an attempt to sit up but gave up when his _brain_ gave a throb of refusal. “How long you been there?”

“A while.”

“Making sure I don’t die in my own vomit?”

The disapproving silence sent a tendril of guilt to wrap around his heart. Sam had literally pulled him from the fire, and here he was making small of it and being an ass.

“Something like that.” He answered softly.  
Sam stood and Dean bit back his desire to beg Sam to not leave. He had no right to ask, and no reason to expect Sam to stay but he didn’t want Sam to leave him alone.

The sink turned on and he came back with a glass of water and set it on the nightstand, retaking a seat.  
“How do you feel?” 

He felt hollow and off center. Like he tucked himself into bed with a bottle of whiskey after running around all night on ecstasy.  
But mostly he felt embarrassed. Being a demon was like the ultimate roofie. He remembered making choices that he never would have made if he’d been… himself. Most of the decisions that left a bad taste in his mouth were choices involving Adam. Whatever had happened with Adam was only made worse by the way Dean treated him like an object. 

“Like I got sucker punched by our brother.”

Sam huffed a laugh, “Yeah, he dropped you pretty hard.” 

It was nothing less than Dean deserved. If he were Adam, he’d want to deck him too. 

Sam misread his silence, “Adam took off.”

“He finds trouble better than I did,” The kid really shouldn’t be left unsupervised. Dean being the one to get him out really didn’t do him any favors. Sure, he taught him how to stay afloat, but it was hardly enough. He felt a surge of arousal quickly followed by guilt when he considered all the things he taught Adam.  
“Should check-in on him from time to time.” 

Checking Sam's reaction, he found Sam watching him. He had that look about him that said he was about to ask questions that would force Dean to face the reality of the situation. That pessimistic realism that Dean had shoved away for months now.  
But when had not thinking about the consequences make them disappear?

Sam had always been good at facing the hard decisions and picking the one that resulted in the least collateral damage. With a mind like that, how did they get here?  
How could Sam look at him and see something worth saving? 

It was Dean who left their half brother to say yes to something that was Dean’s destiny. He'd then proceeded to get said half brother out of jail and then abuse him for months. Dean had only recognized how broken Adam was because Sam had once been there - and Dean had left Sam to pick up the pieces of severe trauma alone.  
Dean was prepared to abandon Sam to all the demons who were still grinding an ax about Lucifer's imprisonment.  
And apparently, it was Dean who pushed Sam away all those years ago. 

God he'd missed Sam, but how could Sam stand to look at him?

“I got you some pills. Not sure what to expect so I got you a little bit of everything.”

"Does feel like coming down off Molly.” 

Dean eyed the water on the nightstand.  
Reaching for it seemed like a herculean task. He closed his eyes and prepared to force himself to sit up. A moment later the water glass was touching his arm, Sam offering it to him along with a few of the stronger ibuprofen tabs. 

Dean thanked him under his breath and managed to drink half the glass under Sam’s watchful gaze. 

The silence stretched between them.

“I’m going to let you get some rest.” Sam announced standing, “Let me know if you need anything.”

He was almost through the door when Dean found his voice. “Sammy.”

“Yeah, Dean?”

He had a million things he wanted to say. ‘Sorry’ being the highest on his list. But he didn’t know what he was the sorriest about. Sorry for disappearing? Sorry for intentionally trying to replace Sam with their younger brother? Sorry for pushing Sam away to begin with? Sorry I let us get here.

Sam sighed and gestured to the nightstand, “There is some serotonin and a bunch of other vitamins in the cup. Get some rest, Dean.”

The door clicking shut echoed like a shotgun.

\- - 

The following days they silently gave each other wide breadth.  
Dean would wander into the kitchen to get coffee and Sam would be finishing breakfast and pack up his laptop.  
Sam started using the west wing bathrooms to shower instead of sharing the bathroom in the east wing.  
The closest they got was passing each other in the hallway, a well-timed dance to avoid bumping shoulders as they passed.

It shifted the third morning Sam left a note on the table, “RAN INTO TOWN FOR SUPPLIES. TEXT IF YOU THINK OF ANYTHING.” 

Dean stared at the note for a long minute. He remembered teaching Sam there were lower case and upper case letters.  
He flipped it over and wrote on the back of the note before he could change his mind. 

“Thank you for not bailing.”

What he’d really wanted to write was ‘How can you stand to live under the same roof as me?’ but felt that would break the ice a little too effectively. Any conversation they had would be like walking across a field of landmines. The silence they’d become familiar with felt tentative at best. One wrong sneeze and Sam would disappear into the wind. 

A couple hours later a shadow appeared at Dean’s door. The sound of paper tearing filled the hall, a piece of paper slid under his door and Sam’s shadow was gone.

“WAS TAUGHT THE DRIFTER RESOLUTION."

Dean snorted a laugh. Drifter solution; If you have a problem, leave it in another city.  
This was Sam’s way of telling him they were okay.

Still not willing to have the conversation they so sorely needed, they started leaving each other notes. 

“Have you heard from Castiel?” “THE CHICKENS ARE SHAKING THE ACORN TREE AND CRYING WOLF. HE'S ON CLEAN-UP DUTY.”  
  
“DO YOU KNOW WHERE MY GREEN SHIRT IS?” “Back of the bathroom door.”  
  
“Why is your phone always ringing?” “FOUND ONE OF BOBBY'S CONTACT LISTS WHEN I WAS LOOKING FOR YOU."  
  
“DOES IT FEEL COLDER IN HERE RIGHT BEFORE THE SUN GOES DOWN?" “Slippers were not a fad and they can’t make you even more of a square.”

\- - 

The morning of the fourth day, Dean woke up feeling off. Not dissimilar to an adrenaline spike.  
He started wiping down the kitchen counters, and an hour later he was mopping himself into the hallway. Humming a CCR song the smell of disinfectant reminded him of. The bathroom needed cleaning, so he did that too. He was on his way to the garage to change baby’s oil when he noticed the lights in the library were on.

Passing each other in the hall hadn’t moved to verbal pleasantries yet, but ever the selfish bastard he was, he wanted the comfort of being in the same room as Sam. 

Even if it meant they didn’t finally have The Conversation.

Demons will be honest if it’ll cut deeper, Dean thought darkly. If he knew there were consequences with his honesty he wouldn’t have said all that shit to Sam. Okay, from what he remembered of being a demon he would have probably still been said it. But he did regret Sam finding out that way.  
He always assumed they’d get drunk together and it would come tumbling out. Somehow the idea of whiskey loosening his lips made it feel more genuine. 

Dean came into the library silently, watching from under his eyelashes as Sam make notes. Picking an aisle that allowed him to keep an eye on Sam, Dean skimmed over the books.

There was a clatter of Sam setting his pen down, “Whatever is bugging you, you can talk to me.”

Dean picked a book at random and stood on the other side of the table.  
“Why do you think something is bugging me?”

Sam raised an eyebrow and gave him a small smile, “Because you don’t get Lodi stuck in your head when things are good.” Dean blinked at him before trying to ask him when he heard, Sam gave him the look -don’t deny it look or I’m going to be upset- explaining, “You were just starting to mop when I got back from my run.”

Dean drummed his fingers on the book cover. He was too keyed up for this conversation. A mix of worry and protectiveness that maybe Sam wasn’t aware he was living with a time bomb. 

And because his brain to mouth filter still hadn’t kicked in, Dean was holding first place in ‘exact opposite of reassurance’.  
“What if the cure doesn’t take?”

Sam didn’t look phased, “Then we do another dose until the cure kicks back in.”

“Kicks back in?” Dean repeated. Because sure, why wouldn’t the First Curse be subdued by something as simple as taking another hit?  
“It’s never that simple for us. How are you so calm and collected about this?”

“I figure if purified blood over time can cure a demon, it should be able to do something about the bloodlust. They come from the same source. Why wouldn’t it work?”

That wasn’t- unreasonable?  
It might be a long shot, but if Sam was willing to throw it against the wall to see if it stuck, Dean was game.  
“Want to try it now?”  
Dean brated himself as soon as the word left his mouth. Of course Sam wouldn’t be up for trying it _now_. He was in the middle of something. Probably something important judging by the stack of books he had at his elbow.

“I’ll get the syringes.” Sam stood, not looking twice at the paper spread before him, “Get the holy oil? Meet back in your room?”

Dean nodded and started for the garage.  
The sense of walking to the gallows followed him down the hall. What if it didn’t work, then where were they? 

 

Twenty minutes later, Dean was sitting on his bed with anointing oil dapped on his forehead and Sam’s blood flowing through his veins. Sam was content to lean against the desk and watch, claiming "want to see if you feel any different."

To break the tension of the possibility of failure, Dean joked, “If it works we might have to perfect a direct transfusion and see how many miles we can get out of it.” 

Sam’s lips twitched in a smile, “I’m sure the doctors of ol’ would be thrilled their practice was being used to ward off agents of hell once again.”

Dean snorted a laugh, “I’m sure there are books around here that tell their names if you wanted to thank them personally?"

Dean’s joke got a weak smile from Sam and they lapsed into silence. 

They had managed to avoid this conversation for four days. That was an eternity in their world.

“I am sorry.”

“It wasn’t you.”

Dean rolled his eyes to the ceiling to keep himself from shaking his head. Their childhood. Harboring these feelings. Staying here. Trapping Sam in this life.  
He had so much to be sorry for he didn’t know where to start.

He felt he had to try and make Sam understand, “What if it wasn’t the mark making me this way?”

Sam watched him silently, reading Dean like an open book. Seeing him for the person he was behind all the posturing, behind the bullshit. Making Dean feel vulnerable in all the ways he hates.  
The only difference this time, he didn’t want to try and hide it from Sam. He wanted to shove it under Sam’s nose as proof that Sam could do better. That he would be better without Dean around. 

Sam’s voice was quiet, resolved, “Then you have nothing else to be sorry for.”

It couldn’t be that easy. Nothing in their life was that easy. Especially when it came to them and their emotions. There were too many years of missed opportunity for this conversation to be so easy.

“I never wanted you to find out.”

Dean blinked a few times and swallowed just to make sure _he_ hadn’t spoken aloud. “What?”

Sam was staring at his hands, his thumb tracing over the scar on his palm, “With the way we grew up- I didn’t want you to think you’d done something wrong. You were the one constant in my life and falling in love with you felt like the most natural thing in the world.”

Hearing Sam put it into words- it was like a punch to the gut. “I never would have taken advantage of you.”

“No, of course not,” Sam hastily agreed, “that’s not what I’m saying. Just- just let me get this out.” 

Together they watched Sam rub his thumb over the palm of his hand for a long minute. 

Dean remained silent and started counting the length of his inhale and exhale. Trying everything to not spook Sam. Because if Sam so much as twitched towards the door, Dean was tackling him. He needed to hear, in Sam’s own words, how badly Dean had messed him up. 

It was a test of patience for Sam to collect himself.

“It was the one thing you wouldn’t give me. I think it’s something built into younger brothers.” Sam exhaled in a laugh, “I knew what to say to get you to do, just about anything. Sometimes I’d ask for really crazy stuff just to make sure you _could_ still say no. But, being with you, like that. It was the one thing you wouldn’t give me. I asked so many different ways, but you always rejected me...” He let out a sigh in his hesitation and bit his lower lip, “Do you remember the last time I ever asked you to run away with me?”

Their father had been dead for over a decade but Sam asking him to run away with him gave Dean the irrational fear their old man would round the corner just in time to hear him say it.  
But he does remember the night Sam was talking about. Dean had been dead asleep when a 17-year-old Sammy had pulled back the covers and bodily shoved Dean over to make room for himself. It took a few minutes of lying in the dark listening to him breathe to realize he had no intention of sleeping.  
Sam had asked him if he thought he could be happy working on cars for the rest of his life.  
The question had woke him up completely, and he asked Sam what he meant. All he remembers of that conversation was Sam hugging him and softly begging, “If we leave together it’ll take him longer to find us.”

Sam had wanted to leave Dad alone, but he never gave Dean a reason.  
He left for California shortly after.  
“I remember.”

“That was the night I decided I was going to go to school, get a job, get a normal life like everybody else, and stop being in love with my brother.”  
Dean stared at his downturned head. Sam flashed him a forced smile and went back to outlining his scar. “Things didn’t go to plan.”

Their time was _years_ come and gone, but even now, Sam knew and was upset Dean hadn’t acted on it. It only took them years to get on the same page about it.

On the same page of _wanting to dick their brother_.  
Dean ran a hand over his face, the holy oil smearing unnecessary slimy against his already sweaty palms. 

“Sammy,” Sam had always made Dean feel like he was right where he was supposed to be. The fact that he was willing to keep dozing Dean with purified blood- what more could Sam possibly do to show they were in this together for the long haul?  
His brother knows him better than he knows himself these days; What was holding them back? Why were they still wasting time?

Finally, Dean said, “This family needs special subflooring to hide all the skeletons.”

Sam laughed.  
A genuine laugh that made Dean’s heart feel too small for his chest. God, he loved his brother.

Dean stood, drawing Sam’s attention. They'd wasted enough time not getting what they wanted. 

Something in his expression, or the way he moved towards Sam, said what he couldn't put to words because suddenly Sam was meeting him halfway. Their lips pressed together and Dean got a hand in Sam's hair and another on his jaw before Sam's was cupping Dean's face. 

They stood there clinging to each other, their lips pressed together, just holding on.

Sam started shaking in Dean’s arms, his breath exhaling quick and warm across Dean’s face. Those little sounds giving voice to the recent struggle and pain Dean had put him through. Dean bumped their noses together and tried to pull Sam's forehead down to rest against his.  
Sam mistook the action as moving away, and dropped a hand to Dean's ribcage, pulling him closer, Dean soothed the worry away with a flick of his tongue against Sam’s lips. 

The barest touch gave Sam the green light, and he deepened the kiss, licking into Dean's mouth.  
It was like getting drawn into the eye of a storm. Sam starting to drag Dean’s shirt off the same time he cupped the back of his head. Using his height to corral Dean towards the bed. 

When his knees hit the bed, they stood there kissing. Trying to press closer to each other without giving any ground. Sam grabbed a handful of Dean's ass and ground their clothed dicks together.  
Knowing the bed was behind him, Dean flipped Sam over his hip, landing him on his back.

There was a brief moment where they stared at each other. Sam blinked up at him in mild shock and Dean staring down at him in wonder. 

Years, they'd wasted years.  
" _Years_ , Sammy." Dean stressed. How had they both been so scared and hesitant?

Sam grabbed Dean’s arm, hooked a foot behind his knee and pulled him down. Dean didn’t have time to brace himself before Sam was dragging him into another kiss, his hands grabbing the back of Dean’s thighs and pulling him close.

Already it was going to be over far sooner than either of them were prepared for, but dry humping was not how he wanted this to happen. He didn't even know if Sam still had all those freckles along his inner thigh.  
“Not going anywhere, Sammy.” Dean murmured against his lips. 

Sam cupped his face and pulled back, "Promise?"  
His open, trusting expression making Dean feel like they were kids all over again. 

Dean dropped a peck to his lips, "Yes. Never without you."

# 

Sam nodded and pulled him back down into a wet kiss. Sam's erection pressing urgently against Dean's thigh had Dean leaning up and suggesting, “We could move it along if we lost the pants?”

Sam blinked up at him then they were both moving, Dean sat up to kneel over Sam’s leg while he worked his own jeans open and Sam lifted his hips to get his jeans and boxers over his ass. 

“Shirts.” Dean said as he tugged his over his head and flung it towards the door. 

“Shirts.” Sam agreed, pulling at his own. 

Rid of the clothes between them, Dean leaned over him for another kiss. Enjoying the feel of skin on skin contact. Sam's chest hair a soft drag across his skin, the wet kiss of Sam's pre-come leaking dick trapped between their stomachs.

Dean gave another peck to Sam's lips and sat up, petting a hand down his side as he drank in the sight of Sam spread out under him. 

“Not letting you leave this room for days.” Dean promised as he settled his hands on Sam’s stomach and stroked upwards.

Dean looked down Sam's body, tracing the path he was very soon going to make with his tongue. He was going to enjoy making Sam come apart in so many different ways. And they had time to explore every one of them.

A shiver shook Sam’s frame and he got that rare, hesitant look about him. His own self worth rearing its questioning head, “You sure?" 

Dean knew he was offering him one final out. As if Dean would somehow change his mind about something that was as much a part of him as loving his car.  
He wrapped his fingers around Sam’s hips, his thumbs framing the base of Sam’s erection and massaging the muscle there. He knew how to tell Sam he loved him with his body. But putting it into words... Dean didn't like using 'love' when it came to feelings towards another person. Sam needed the reassurance. Always needing to hear something to make it true in his mind. 

It was something they'd denied each other for far too many years. Look where hiding it from each other got them?

"Sammy."

Sam sat up and cupped his face until Dean was looking at him. Solemnly he said, "I know." 

Grinning, Sam pecked him on the lips and leaned back on his elbows.

Dean blinked at him, his mouth falling open in shock, "Did you just Han Solo me?"

Sam smiled, "As if you wouldn't have done the same thing?"

Dean conceded by pressing a kiss to his lips that pushed him to lie flat on the bed. Sam rocked his hips in answer, a silent request to continue. 

“How do you want to do this?” Dean asked against his lips, “There is lube in the nightstand drawer.”

Sam gave him a sheepish grin and tugged him back into a kiss, “Not going to last that long.”

Dean allowed him a peck before admonishing, “Sammy, what have we talked about when it comes to sex?”

Sam threw his arms above his head and gave a groan of frustration, “There is always time for lube.”

“That’s my boy.” Dean grinned, “Lay on the bed, I’ll get it.”

With Sam spread out on the bed properly, head on the pillows, and Dean crawled back over him, settling himself over Sam’s thighs so their dicks lined up. He watched Sam’s face as he spread the leaking pre-come around the tip of Sam’s cockhead.  
Sam was watching Dean’s hand, a slow flush taking over his face as Dean teased at the slit.

Dean sat back, making sure there wasn't a shadow obscuring Sam's view, “Turn you on to watch me touch your dick, Sammy?”

“Going to come if I keep watching.” Sam admitted. 

“That’s the idea,” Dean told him as he cradled Sam’s cock. He drizzled lube until it started to run towards his fingers. Taking both their dicks in hand, he pumped to smear the slick around until they were both shiny and pressing rock hard against each other.

Too close to keep playing with himself, Dean wrapped his hand around Sam's cock. Focusing at the underside of the head until Sam bucked under him and groaned. 

“You close Sammy?”  
In answer, Sam wrapped a hand around Dean’s dick and started keeping pace with Dean’s teasing. The pleasure pooled hot in Dean’s balls.

He knocked Sam’s hand away and took them both in hand again, fumbling for the lube, he applied more and started rocking his hips, dragging his dick along the length of Sam’s.

He pet a steady hand up Sam’s chest, teasing at his nipples. Watching Sam's stomach muscles work as he leisurely thrust up into Dean's hand. The way his hair was starting to stick to the sweat gathering at his temples.

“Going to be a sight to see you coming on your big brother’s cock, Sammy.” 

Sam dug his heels into the bed and started his own rhythm thrusting against Dean’s grip. He wanted to feel Sam come against him. Dean worked him over until his thrusts grew uncoordinated. Making sure to run Sam's cockhead across his fingers with each pump, sharing the lube and precome between them as he did so. 

“Want to feel when you come Dean." Sam begged, "Want to feel you.”

Hearing Sammy beg so sweetly had Dean coming, the feel of Sam's dick pressed to the underside of his own and Sam’s name on his lips.

Not waiting for his twitching dick to stop, Dean abandoned his own dick in favor of taking Sam in both hands, holding the base while polishing his palm over the lube slick head. Paying attention to the bundle of nerves under the tip.  
Sam yelped and arched under him, his fingers digging into Dean's thighs as he groped for something to hold onto.  
"There you go Sammy," Dean praised, not giving him a choice as he worked the head fast, "come for your big brother. Come on Sammy.” 

Sam came with a growl, filling Dean's palms with his pearl white release until it dripped onto his stomach.  
Dean kept a loose grip on Sam’s dick, stroking him through the aftershocks. Enjoying the relaxed blissed-out look on Sam’s face.

Sam’s hand came up to still Dean’s teasing touch, not moving his hand away, just stopping him. 

“Thank you for coming back.”

With his hand wrapped around Sam’s cock, he contemplated the fact he hadn't come back willing. He'd been actively running from this when Adam forced his hand. 

Instead of answering, Dean leaned in and pressed his lips to Sam’s. Licking into Sam’s mouth for a slow kiss, reveling in the fact he would be able to do it whenever he wanted.

He fished the nearest shirt from the floor and ran it through the mess on Sam’s stomach. Dropping it to the side of the bed to deal with when he didn’t have a fucked out and sated Sammy in his bed. 

He patted Sam’s knee, “Come on. Up. Out of the wet spot.”

Sam gave a weak protest at having to move but went easy enough when it meant he could lie under the covers against Dean’s side. He claimed a pillow and was patient enough for Dean to turn off the light and climb under the covers before he turned and sprawled himself across Dean's side.

“Good?” Dean asked, his hand coming around to rest against Sam's back. 

Sam nodded and flexed his fingers against Dean’s chest and a leg wedged between Dean’s. An imitation of the years they spent sharing a bed.

Dean stared at the ceiling as the sound of Sam's breathing evened out into sleep. 

Petting a hand through Sam's hair earned him a deep exhale as he relaxed further into Dean's side. He had been pushing himself so hard on Dean's behalf, he deserved a restful couple of hours. 

Remembering Sam's desperation made Dean's chest feel tight. If Adam had let him walk away, what would Sam have done? What other reckless method would Sammy have used to get to him?  
Sam had aligned himself with Adam because it got him closer to Dean. A gamble that could have ended in disaster if Adam had felt the inclination for bloodshed. 

" _he's still got that thing with his blood. He'd fit right in._ " Dean shoved the echo of Adam's suggestion away.  
Sure, Sam wouldn't have given up on him -like a dog after a bone when he wanted something- but he wouldn't have followed Dean to hell.  
Right?  
He wouldn't have followed and accepted a title that had cost him a normal life, time and time again.  
He wouldn't he have stood by Dean's side in the darkness as the demons pushed and pulled and built a throne around them.

Dean turned towards Sam lying on the pillow beside him.  
How much was Sammy willing to sacrifice to be where they were right now?  
Would his need to be close to Dean override his common sense?

The tightness of his chest made drawing a breath painful because Dean realized he didn't know.

 _Truth is hardest to accept_ an internal voice, sounding suspiciously like Adam, chimed in. 

Dean pet a slow hand down Sam's back.  
It was a hard pill to swallow.  
  
That maybe, _just maybe_ , Sam would give up everything if it meant they found a way back to each other. 

Which was just as well because Dean knew if it was in his ability, he would do the same for Sammy in a heartbeat.


	11. Chapter 11

It took him three days to trace Dean's steps.

After that, it was a matter of walking around until he found a spot that was warded to feel like "nothing".  
Dean was smart but Adam knew he liked to play it fast and loose with covering stuff up. Never thinking of what a spell would look like once it was in place, only focused on concealing what he was trying to hide. 

The door was made of iron and had a few sigils Adam could smell the magic through the alley’s overwhelming scent of piss and garbage. 

"Overcompensate much?" Adam muttered to himself inspecting the ward on the ground. 

It was meant to hold for a long time, but that didn't mean it couldn't be destroyed by force alone. Prepared for the wards to raise the alarm, Adam kicked the door in.

"Knock knock." He called into the dark. 

The voice that answered was weak from disuse, "In the bedroom darling." 

"Hmm, starting without me I hope?" Adam drawled walking further into the room. 

The smell of death permeated the stale air. 

The man standing in the middle of the room looked Adam up and down, "To what do I owe this unexpected, but wholly appreciated, visit?"

Adam paced the perimeter of the room, watching as the demon turned with him so his back was never exposed.  
"Heard you were on vacation. Wanted to see if it was everything it's cracked up to be."

There was a skeleton in the corner of the room, no doubt picked clean by the rats scurrying about in places like this. 

"It leaves a lot to be desired."

Adam turned to face him and hooked his thumb towards the body behind him, "You're wearing the help ragged."  
His silence told Adam the joke wasn't appreciated.  
"Fine, I'm here on business."

The man gestured to the space in front of him as if he were inviting Adam to sit, "Lucky for you my schedule has been cleared. You have my undivided attention."

Adam grinned, "I want to make a deal."


End file.
